The Dead Chronicles, Part Nine: Touch of Grey
by TerminalMadness83
Summary: Four armed teens avoid nomads in the city, meanwhile, a stranger is given the task to bring a little boy to a safe haven, but can he avoid nomads, the dead, and other threats?
1. Touch of Grey: Chapter One

_I used to hear from people that in the end of the world, doomsday, there'd be plenty to fear. In the end of the world, there'd be a grand war between man that would shake the earth to its core, in the end of the world, there'd be an onslaught of nuclear explosions that would bring upon a nuclear holocaust, in the end of the world there'd nuclear winter and plagues, in the end of the world humanity would no longer exist._

_They were wrong, there was no war, there was no nuclear winter, but there was a plague, and it snuck in under the radar like the hush of summer. Before the military could respond, before the big man could turn the keys and press the button, the world was over with the quiet hush of death. Not an army in the world could save us. People, human beings were dead, and just like that… they were alive and became flesh eating monsters, those that were lucky enough, died, those unlucky enough survived, those cursed were eaten and turned into one of those things walking outside, but then again… maybe they were right after all, when doomsday came there was plenty to fear, and it was __**them…  
**_

**THE DEAD CHRONICLES, PART NINE: TOUCH OF GREY  
**

And then it just happened.

The people who were supposed to be dead, didn't die.

That wasn't natural, it wasn't even supernatural. It just was. And no one made sense of it. Before they could, it stopped. Everything just stopped.

_It was seven months, nine days after the fall..._

"43, cap'n. 40, cap'n." Miguel laughed.

He giggled and looked through the scopes lying side by side with his girlfriend. The others sat next to them making sure to stay out of sight.

"Will you shut up?" Morgan scoffed rolling her eyes.

"What the fuck is that?" Stephanie asked.

"It's a joke, babe," Miguel replied, "Just a joke."

"You've been doing that for months now," Carlito replied, "It stops becoming a joke after a while."

"And you know what a joke is?" Stephanie asked.

"Oh shut up," he turned looking into the scope and adjusted his hat.

He was a bald one, his entire arm and shoulder were missing, and a chunk of meat resembling a joint bone jabbed out from his arm.

"Boom..."

A shot fired. The body went down.

"Make sure it went in the head," Morgan warned.

"It did."

Miguel stood up, walked over, lay on his stomach looking into the rifle and saw the body sitting up and looking around.

"No you didn't!" He shot, its head blasted all over the streets, and plopped back.

"Oops, my fault."

"That's the second time you did that shit, cut it out."

"I was just target practicing."

"We only have so much ammo--"

"--We have lots of ammo--"

"And it won't last forever," Miguel argued.

"Oh come on, relax, we stole a whole life time supply back at that truck, we'll be fine." Steph crossed her arms and adjusted her glasses.

"You're gonna waste the bullets and then what?" Morgan asked.

"We have the hammers, and bats."

Miguel huffed rolling his eyes and sat back down beside Stephanie. Carlito took a break after watching the dead four floors below the destroyed apartment complex, now a shell thanks to the explosions and looting, and sat on the warm pavement nestling together to brave the impending cold coming to the city. It felt like fall now. Something in them could just feel it, and they were dreading it collectively. They were high above the dead with zip wires on either direction, and it was going to get cold in a month or so. Carlito took off his gloves and wiped his sweaty hand against his pant leg. He looked over at Morgan who was humming a song to herself, and attempting to sleep with her bandana over her eyes.

"Is that safe?"

Miguel looked over to her.

"She's not complaining."

"I don't get how you guys can sleep during all this, I try sometimes and I really get nowhere. It's tough."

"It's not during, it's after," Stephanie corrected, "And you should try to sleep."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't sleep, you'll go nuts."

"And you're prone to do something dumb like wasting bullets for kicks."

Morgan scoffed, "And falling in to a trash bin."

"Heh heh!" Carlito mocked, "I thought you were asleep."

She flipped him the bird.

Miguel flashed a smile, the first in literal months and settled back next to Stephanie. It was the first calm day they had in weeks, a time where they had supplies sufficient, ammo, and an untarnished spot atop an apartment building. It was a rare sight for once, and even the dead seemed to settle in and calm down for a while. Everyone took advantage, but Carlito was antsy. He was now accustomed to the screaming and running, and his general sense of nervousCarlito showed. He was calmer in the midst of the walking dead, and he was too horrified to admit it to them. And even himself.

It was something not many seventeen year olds could stand, but he did. Though they were all basically the same age, Miguel was the ring leader who'd set up their own world atop the different buildings and store roofs, and had the idea to set the zip lines back and forth. They never got the hang of it, but it was something that they relied on. They lasted longer than most in their city and it was because of the zip lines. Their city was now on the roofs, among the pipes and out in the open, but they were safe, even if without their families. Miguel was a dark skinned Dominican young man who towered over the others and rarely ever spoke, but they followed him everywhere. He often wore a scowl, but it meant that he was always thinking. Morgan was the doll with the typical features of a sixties starlet who'd been considerably shed of her prided aesthetic value after an explosion in her apartment left her chin scratched and scarred. Stephanie was Miguel's girlfriend, and practiced much of his methods.

She spoke only when necessary and kept a straight laced attitude about their survival, and almost rivaled her friend in beauty, which had become woefully hard to notice as dirt spread along their faces and bundles of clothes covered them.

"I slept good last night," Stephanie said adjusting her glasses, "For once we have a great spot to relax without being interrupted or hearing noise from them." Carlito shrugged, "We'll see how long it lasts."

"It's been a week here, nothing's wrong so far."

"Nothing's wrong?" he smirked.

"Alright, well nothing very bad is wrong," she smiled.

"I have them trained in my scope," Carlito mumbled.

"What are they doing now?" Steph asked.

"They're scattered. That's new. They're just walking around and going in and out of the doorways. Ugh, I can only imagine what it's like to be down there right now."

"I hope someone else is on the roofs," Morgan said.

"It's very possible," Miguel replied, "I'm sure a lot of people took to the roofs when it all went down. But I haven't seen any of them around here."

"It's a small ghetto," Stephanie replied.

"There may come a time where all that's left of the humans will be taking to the roof or put in to hiding," Miguel deduced.

"The food's going to run out eventually," Carlito declared.

"I don't want to think about that," Morgan argued.

"It's true," he insisted, "We won't be up here forever. There's going to be a time we'll have to move and go down there to move."

Miguel stood up, "For now let's at least think about having lunch."

"Cereal bars, yay," Stephanie groaned.

"It's all we have, babe," he apologized.

She lifted her head up and looked around, "Where's the ammo stash?" Miguel pointed a few feet away, "It's there, but the clothes are across the street." Stephanie tisked waving it away, "I'm not going to go through all that for a jacket."

"I'll go," Carlito stood up wiping his hands.

"No don't worry about it," she replied, "Just take a nap."

"No, it's okay."

"Sit!" Miguel joked, "It's okay."

He rolled his eyes and sat down. He furrowed his brows and looked back, "Get down!" They dropped down covering their heads. There was a short silence and suddenly the rumble in the distance. The silence was cut like a knife as the tank and two trucks sped through the streets. The shots fired as the dead charged the trucks and pandemonium hit and the hooting of soldiers were heard below. Nomads again. And they were looking for someone.

They saw the zip lines up above, so the four knew what they were hunting for, and they'd been in their area five times and shooting through windows at random to kill whomever lurked about. They steam rolled over an endless horde of the dead leaving large pools of puss and decrepit stagnant blood to splattered along the floors as the corpses were victims of the tank's massive power. They didn't make a sound though as they plowed in to crowds of the dead. Suddenly the truck's cloth haul lifted and two young women stepped out looking around. They murmured out of ear shot from the group. Miguel crawled over and snuck his head out over the ledge slowly to see them.

"What are they doing?" Carlito whispered.

"I don't know," he replied. He looked back at Stephanie who was lying flat on her stomach silently. He watched as they acknowledged the zip lines and pointed up following the zip lines from building to building with their hands. They were either aware someone was living along the complexes, or maybe just planning their own high rise civilization in the process.

"They know we're here?" Carlito asked.

"I think so," Miguel nodded, "But I don't know if they're aware of where we're perched. I think they're looking for someone to take with them."

"Shit, they're hot," he reeled.

"And psychotic," Miguel replied, "They may investigate."

"They're going to go in to the buildings?" Stephanie asked.

"I think they would if they could. But these shit holes are too clogged with the dead to let them get up to the roofs." For many nights they tried to figure why they were roaming around their area. Were they aware they were up on the roofs, or were they just tormenting them? Shots rang out buzzing above their heads, Stephanie gasped hearing brick crack above her from a bullet. Miguel held her head down, "Don't get up," he warned, "Don't scream." She nodded closing her eyes. The laughs echoed into the buildings and they shot wildly into the windows of buildings next to them.

The laughing and motors eventually died down, and they all sat up slowly. "Shit, man," Carlito exclaimed looking back as they disappeared into the corner, "God fucking damn it." Miguel crawled over to Stephanie to check on her. They embraced.

"Why do they keep doing that?" Morgan asked angrily, crawling over, "What are they looking for?"

"Nothing," Miguel replied brushing Stephanie's shoulder off, "They're fishing out survivors or something. Whoever they can't kidnap, they'd rather kill."

"Next time they come over we should fire on them," Carlito propositioned.

"No!" Stephanie exclaimed.

"Don't be stupid," Morgan replied.

"What why?"

"Because if you do that they'll shoot us down and camp out until we give ourselves up. We can't even zip to the next buildings without being fired at if we do. Just let them pass by and they'll get bored, okay? We have to keep ourselves hidden."

"Maybe they'll take us with them!"

"They'll kill us, is what they'll do!" Miguel argued, "You know what happened after it all ended, those fuck heads went around stealing from survivors and killed the people who managed to outlive everyone else."

"They rape women to death for god sake," Morgan sighed scared.

"I don't want that happening with us!" Miguel insisted. Stephanie grabbed his arm as if to plead for his withdrawal, and Miguel halted in his shouting and sighed to relieve himself. Even Morgan was a bit stunned, watching with wide eyes and a stiff lip. It was a rare sight to see Miguel yell, but Carlito wanted to shoot back.

"Alright," Carlito pursed his lips and sat with his arms crossed.

Miguel rolled his eyes and turned to take a leak. There was Carlito. The stick thin light skinned Puerto Rican young man with a penchant for wanting to prove his worth to his comrades on the battlefield. His gun was an extension of his manhood, and he had very little of it. He fought to prove himself to them, and so far they weren't impressed. In spite of his amazing luck for surviving this long, he'd constantly put himself in danger just to save face in front of his friends, jumping into crowds of zombies, perching himself up in plain sight to draw them out, and even battling with nomads on a few occasions before they settled on the roofs. He hated to humble himself, but it was a wonder they'd put up with him for so long. He still had the build of that baseball player he once was in his high school and was damn good with the rifles. It's one of the few reasons why they didn't abandon him.

He held his rifle like a child next to him and looked down away from their glances. He looked up at the girls.

"What?" he asked sharply, "Dad yelled at me already, look somewhere else." Stephanie pursed her lips nodding. "Look.somewhere.else!" They turned slowly tending back to their own affairs and he quickly turned mounting his rifle. He looked back at them nodding angrily and aimed. He could still see the cars in the far distances riding back and forth and felt the twitch of his finger on the trigger. He made a click sound with his tongue, and a low boom sound with his cheeks. He had them at dead aim. He gave a slight smirk and turned back to the group sliding the rifle down beside him.

Miguel was Stephanie's life line, he was her ticket out of the chaos, and they'd stuck like glue ever since the madCarlito. When the horror broke out they'd made it out of the building in their ghettos. But barely. Around that time they'd lived among their neighbors who were still storing the dead in the basements and keeping them in rooms, Miguel saw fit to keep Stephanie away from their deeds and distance himself from everywhere else. Before the break out, they'd holed up in their apartment, all with the bodies of Stephanie's family. Miguel was sensible, and Stephanie followed along. Her mom went first, biting her sister and going for them. They finished her off in the living room with bats and bashed her head in. And then they went for her little sister who hadn't realized what had happened.

Maybe it was murder. Maybe it was hasty, but they couldn't stop to ask questions. They'd seen what happened. They held no regrets. They gathered in their room, and they killed her before she could make a break for it. Miguel never went back home. It was too late for his mother and brother. And there they were in the narrow edge of hell living on the delusion that they were safe. And they didn't mind it. Steph lay her head along Miguel's lap dozing off as he caressed her hair. Carlito watched enviously and turned back to the edge looking through his scope. The nomads were looking for something. Those fucking nomads. Those punk kids who'd banded with local gangs and roughnecks to form their own society. They were merciless and he wanted in.

_It was six months, one day after the fall..._

He cupped his hands under the broken pipe and anxiously sipped it. His hands were dirty and muddy. He wiped it off whispering to himself and cupped his hands to take more water. The rain left quite a down pour, and he wanted to stand under the water falls to drink it all. Who cared if he drowned? There was a distant splunking in the distance, the sound of wet feet splashing in to small puddles, and it was everywhere. Makem stopped his drinking momentarily and froze in place. The trickling of the black rain in to the seams of the wrecked apartment building drowned any sounds of the splunking, but it was around and he couldn't figure out where. He stood still only moving his eyes looking around in to the darkness, and hesitated to even breathe. At that moment the splunking continued. The soggy wet bloated flesh plopped in to the water and he turned noticing the shadow emerge from the corner.

He thought to ask if they were alive for a moment, but quickly ducked underneath a counter crawling into a cabinet. He panted anxiously trying to muffle his movements and slid the door shut at only a crack. He covered his mouth with both hands and heard the splunking and sploshing of the shadow roam around the large room. It definitely wasn't alive. And it definitely wasn't a survivor. The shadow splashed along the walls as the lightning gave its presence definition, and he closed his eyes muttering in his head. He muttered the prayers of his god for minutes on end, and hoped to what ever was above that the shadow wouldn't approach him. The strong stench of water suffocated the room. From the stagnant and dirty, to the muddy and grimy, this room was waterlogged, but it was an easy entrance and escape for him, even if it were out in the open for the dead to walk around willy nilly.

He'd been there for two hours, and he didn't realize it. For all he knew, a horde of them could enter. He sat in the metal cabinet with his eyes closed, crouched down, and barely moving at all. All he could hear were the trickles of the water along the surface of the cabinet, and the lightning flashed again. It was twenty minutes gone. The sploshing stopped. But why? He very slowly slid the door to the right and looked out. He slid out and jumped up raising his Monkey wrench and turned left and right preparing to slam it down on anything that approached him. He was slipping. It snuck up on him and it was the third time in a week. He looked around and inspected the room making very little movements lest it catch on to his smell in the distance. Maybe the water was overpowering the smell of his warm flesh.

He thanked the gods for water, and sheathed his wrench feeling it compress against his waist and slump in its girth. It was a feeling he'd grown accustomed to. It wasn't heavy anymore, at least not heavier than his rifle. He slid it over under his arm pit to the front and stepped forward. A crackling filled the room and he grunted slipping in to a sink hole. He yelped clutching the floor and felt the weak wooden floors give way from his weight. The water and rubble had weakened the foundation and now the floors were deteriorating from months of black rain. He didn't care what rain it was, but he was thirsty. He panted looking down into the pit and sighed wiping his wet forehead. He looked up in the hole and opened his mouth letting the water fall in to his mouth very steadily. He wiped his mouth and nodded. It was time to go. They'd heard the crumbling, and where there was noise there was usually human life. If one got nosy, others would come to accompany it.

He bid adieu to his brief safe haven and ran off up the slope of broken glass and concrete sliding in to the streets to make a run for it as the evening fell over the small ghettoscapes. He looked back at the roads as he ran, it was a reflex. Every time he ran along the roads he expected the beams of headlights to flash on to him ready to mow him down. It wouldn't have been the first time. The rain and humidity from the day hurt his hip and reminded him of that horrific accident four years prior. It was a great indicator that no matter how young he was, his hip would always slow him down. He panted slowing down a bit and walked at a brisk pace limping slightly along the dampened pavement. His head band constantly startled him as the black bandana's knots were wet enough to where every motion caused them to smack the back of his neck with a cold thud, something that shook his heart every time.


	2. Touch of Grey: Chapter Two

It was what they felt like when touched. The rubbery, leathery ice cold skin, doused with boils and scars, the bloated drowned decrepit corpses that sloshed around with purple asphyxiated faces, glazed eyes, and mouths with their black tongues hanging along the slopes of their lower lips. He'd been pressed against their cold bodies a few times in an attempt to move their bodies, and wrestling with them long before he was handed his weapons by fate. Their faces were impossible to forget. And then there were the notorious wounds that'd become a common sight amidst the land of the dead. It was the small wounds that made him flinch, because the small wounds always drew the misery out towards the victims longer. He'd seen women with their bottom lips completely torn by the teeth of the dead as their daughters looked on in horror struggling to cry, come to their aid of their mothers, and save themselves.

Not one child was selfish enough to run away, they always came to the aide of their parents and loved ones, and they were the only times he'd cursed selflessness in the world. The children were untouched by human selfishness, thus most of the young population were unfortunate enough to be ravaged by the chipped nails of the walking dead who saw only fresh meat with their cries falling on deaf ears.

He wondered often what would have happened had he died during the hit and run on the road that morning. Would he have been number one? Would he have been "that Iranian guy who turned first"? Who was number one? And why did it take so long for people to realize number one wasn't kosher to the natural properties of life and death? He shook off the thoughts and focused back at the pitch black night ahead of him. He didn't need to sleep. He didn't need to sleep. He shook his head again trying to ward off the exhaustion and finally came upon a large white RV on the side of the road. He stopped momentarily and looked around praying the dead didn't lurk. He didn't catch their moans of thumps in the distance and braved it. He looked in to the windshield and saw the motionless shadows behind the shattered glass. He was too tired.

He jumped on to the rickety side ladder and quickly rushed up to the top of the RV observing the high ground. He surveyed the area and thankfully the byways weren't loaded with the dead. Shadows danced through the forest in the distance, but neither of them really paid mind to his presence. The roof looked sturdy. He climbed to the top feeling along the surface and quickly crawled down along the haul. He sighed closing his eyes and knelt down along the cold surface. He tore his cloak from his back and lied down along his sides draping it along his body. It wasn't a bed at a motel, but it would have to do. Before he could draw attention to the dancing shadows in the distance, he'd conked out, and was in to the black.

"I'm okay," he said in a soft accented voice, "I mean, it was just a surgery. They said it would be back to normal in a few months."

"You're lying, you know," Greg said propping his magazine along his lap, "I hate when you do that. You always reserve the bad news until it's too late, almost as if you're doing me a favor. It's not fair."

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"You're doing more harm than good."

"I can't help it. I don't want to give bad news until I think the worst is over or until there's a new development, you know?" Greg, a young blond dressed in a brown suit, just arriving from a meeting, sat down at his bed and clutched his hand.

"So what's the bad?"

"They're saying I might not walk again."

Greg gave heavy sigh and slumped his chest.

"It's just… they're saying the chances of me ever walking normally are at fifty percent or something, but I'll make it--"

Greg whimpered, "—No you won't."

"—Yes, I will, I promise. I mean how many times did I have the deck stacked in someone else's favor? I quit gambling, drinking, and cavorting."

"Cavorting?" Greg chuckled through the tears, "Did you come in from the twenties or something?"

Makem laughed squeezing his hand.

"You did that on purpose."

"Maybe," he replied, "But I made you laugh."

Greg nodded wiping the tears.

"So, how are they treating you here?"

"Good, I guess," Makem shrugged, "You'd think they've never seen an Iranian before or something. And worse more, they keep confusing me for Indian. Some stupid nurse asked me last night, 'What's it like in India?'" He jerked his head imitating her. Greg scoffed, "What did you tell her?"

"I told her hot and muggy with a chance of rain," he smirked.

"That's awful," Greg furrowed his brows.

"But when I did it, I talked in a bad Indian accent."

Greg chuckled lowering his head.

"That took the bad stuff away, didn't it?" Makem laughed in his slight British accent. Greg nodded and stopped laughing. "So, how long until you get out of here?"

"About a few weeks, I think. The good news is I can go to the bathroom without the ugly nurses help. They grab my piece like they're handling a hose or something."

"What type of nurse?"

"An ugly black woman."

Greg nodded pursing his lips.

"And I've been watching the tellie a lot. Which sucks."

Greg nodded, "Anything but the bad, right?"

Makem scoffed and nodded.

"Alright fine," he obliged, "I'll focus on the good, okay?"

"Good."

"Your mom called, and your nephew's been asking for you."

"You know the drill."

"I hate the drill."

"He likes you, just be honest but… not too honest."

"Alright."

"I'll be fine," Makem assured him, "I'll show those stupid doctors, don't worry."

Greg nodded silently and caressed his face softly. They embraced kissing and Makem pulled back with a grin, "You want a hubby with two bad legs?"

"I'll just… prop you up or something."

They laughed.

Makem awoke to the blinding sun light and hesitated to sit up. He lifted his head a bit wearily and stood up aiming his rifle down. There were no morning visitors, thankfully, but then again he wasn't sure if it was morning, anymore. He bunched his cloak under his arm and quickly crawled down the side of the RV ladder acknowledging the sun light. He didn't know what time it was, but it was the day time, and that was enough for him. He took a piece of chocolate from his pocket and looked around preparing to journey again in to the day light. They could smell it, which was risky in a public area. They smelled warm breath, and chocolate, and warm flesh. They even smelled body odor, which was almost instantly an argument to showers. He'd heard over the months preceding the carnage that bases and safe havens were being set up all around the country and the world. Some people even took to cruise ships and were garnering floating shelters. He loved the idea.

He became ambivalent to where to walk and stopped in the middle of the road. Did he come in from the right or the left? He walked up for a few minutes and stopped again looking back. Was he in the right direction? Was he going back to his collapsed apartment again? He turned certain to where he was going and continued up a short slope leading in to a brush of bushes. He saw three small family cars perched beside one another and he ducked back in instinct. He waited, kneeling down along the ground and minded his surroundings. He yanked a stone from the ground and tossed it smacking it against the hood of the car. He waited for visitors and tightened his bandanna impulsively. As was the case, one emerged. This one's nails were yellow and jagged like rusted metal one her right hand. The other hand bore nails hanging from the seams, apparently from scratching at a wall. Her eyes were sucked back in to her skull with only the small beads of white peaking from the crevices.

She groaned staggering around in a frail body frame and turned observing the hood of the red car smacking her stiff skeletal hand against the back window anxiously. There was a quick scurry from behind and Makem smashed his monkey wrench in to the back of her head with a vicious grunt. Before she could turn to notice his attack, she plopped to the ground and growled as he mounted her and took repeated blows to her head with the heavy wrench. After a few minutes she'd stopped struggling and he continued smashing her, halted, quickly standing up and panting. A general store. He definitely wasn't going over the same ground he'd treaded days before. He sheathed his grimy wrench and braved it going up past the gas tanks and along the porch looking around. There were no visitors, no intruders, and the environment seemed untouched, save for the foot prints, and the cars. How many people did they fit in these cars? And why did they get abandoned?

He looked in to the darkness and stood back sizing up the entrance. "Hello?" He said loudly to fish out any drifters, "Tell me this is empty. If not, stop hiding and come out!" He stood basking in the silence, relieved and grateful and leaned down noticing the hand in the light. And then the crunching and chewing drowned out the silence. He considered his options of using his wrench or his rifle and stood back hearing the chewing. "Hey," he called it, "Fresh meat, over here. Come on." The chewing persisted. "Come on!" He stomped his foot angrily, "Come on over here. You got friends with you? How many of them, shit head?" The face popped out, and a large Golden Retriever licked its lips looking up at him with wide curious eyes.

"Oh," Makem whispered to himself, "Hey…" He opened the door and suddenly the dog gave a loud bark positioning to attack. He stepped back leaving the door shut, "What's your name?" The dog barked. "Shut up, please. They'll find me. I'm not one of them, see?" He whistled to it's and waved his hand. "See, Goldie? I'm fine. I'm just very hungry, and I want in, okay?" He opened the door and the dog growled charging at him from the darkness smashing in to the door knocking him on his butt. He panted in surprise shaking his head and stood up brushing himself off. The dog smacked against the door angrily and sent its choppers scraping along the glass at him, the blood and drool smearing along the window.

"Goldie, I thought we were friends," he mumbled nodding. He walked up to the door riling the dog up more and couldn't believe it. The dog had been feeding on the dead for what seemed like months and he didn't care if Makem was alive or not. He panted, gazing in disbelief, "I'm getting in," he assured him as the dog defended the door barking at him angrily. He aimed his rifle at front and turned walking over to the side of the store. He prayed Goldie was the only one in the store. He prayed the drifters were all hamburger helper thanks to the dog. Before he knew it he was in the back and hadn't been met by the dead or anyone else. Thankfully Goldie was still at front barking wildly and making a mess of the window. He didn't want to shoot him. He saw the back door, walked over to it, and clutched the knob. He twisted it and swung it open stepping back with a loud whistle. The barking stopped and he saw the dog running over to him growling.

He turned running back and fled to the front as the dog burst out from the back door chasing after him. He scurried along the porch and burst through the door slamming it shut as the dog angrily jumped on the window from the outside barking at him defensively. He turned running to the back of the store jumping over the bodies and locked the back door standing back. "Oh god, thank you," he panted wiping his forehead. The store wasn't dark on the inside shedding a light on three still corpses who'd been there since the beginning. The backs of their heads and limbs were chewed through thanks to Goldie, and the hunger for flesh was irresistible. The store had two wall freezers and three rows of food, as well as a counter that was vacant, and a stock room pad locked and not drawing a ruckus after the run in with Goldie. Whatever was in the stock room wouldn't have come out after Goldie's residency, anyway.

He yanked the chips off the racks and splashed a variety of snack foods and crackers along the counter digging in to the wrappers to feast. He shoved the chips one after the other in to his mouth and heard Goldie outside still persisting in the barking and anxious scratching. He swallowed and sighed in relief looking around. "Relax," he said, "We're both trying to survive." He leaned over clutching his head and took a last bite shoving the rest of his findings in to a small bag. He ignored the smell from the corpses and grabbed a large bag of food tearing it open. "Here," he said waving it in front of the door, "You want this?" Goldie barked and stopped momentarily, wagging its tail. "How about some real food?" He tore it open and poured it all over the floor in a large pile. "How is that?" Goldie sat down with its tongue hanging down and wagged its tail looking down at the food. "Good, okay," Makem said triumphantly. He turned tearing open three more bags and poured them all in a corner for Goldie.

He stood by the door, "If I let you in, you have to promise to be nice." Goldie looked up at him licking its lips. He took the chance and opened the door. The dog rushed in pushing him aside and jumped on to the food devouring it anxiously. "Okay," Makem nodded, "I'll leave the door open so you can go in and out and… I'll see you." He stepped back propping the door open. "Thank you for the food, and thank you for the rest, Goldie. Nice place you have here." He turned and rushed down the road with the deafening silence finally curing his fears of being discovered. He didn't bother looking at the cars since they were locked, had no keys, and likely no gas. Not to mention he had no idea how to hot wire an automobile in the first place. It was time wasted that he didn't need to waste. All of it, a fruitless effort.

Miguel dropped the cereal bars at their feet and settled down along the corner of the hot tar tearing the wrapper open.

"How long do we got before we head on home?" Morgan asked.

"I say we give it a few hours. When it gets dark we can't see where we land," Carlito explained.

"What he said," Miguel replied.

"It looks like it's going to rain," Steph said looking up.

"Don't say that," Morgan pleaded.

"Can't fight the black rain," Steph shrugged.

"We have the awning over there to duck under, so we're good," Miguel replied, "There's nothing to worry about."

"You ever been struck by lightning, before?" Carlito asked.

"No."

"I have," he nodded, "It's very painful."

"How many times are you going to tell that story?" Morgan groaned.

"I lost fingernails, shit head."

"Your dumb ass was standing under a tree," Steph rolled her eyes, "We told you not to go there, but you just had to, anyway."

"I remember your mom was yelling at you the whole way to the hospital," Morgan scoffed.

"Ah, fuck that bitch," he tisked sitting back, "I'm glad that bitch died." Stephanie rolled her eyes and turned walking to the back of the roof.

"Where are you going?" Morgan asked.

"I'm just going to get a jacket."

"I'll be back," Miguel said pocketing a bar.

"Where are you going?" Carlito asked annoyed.

"Just shut up man."

"Even like this he wants to fuck her," Carlito chuckled.

"Shut up, dick head," Morgan huffed. Miguel walked after her and followed her to the end of the canvas looking down over the zip wires. "You just take one quick motion and land," he assured her.

"I hate doing this," she sighed nervously.

"It's quick, just close your eyes," he replied patting her shoulder.

"I hope those nomads aren't watching us."

"They're not, do it before they make another go around the block." She clutched the handle bars and jumped sliding down the wires. She gave a gasp closing her eyes and slid across landing on the small building. "Shit," she exclaimed wiping herself off. She panted and saw Miguel waiting for her. She tossed the handle bars along the wire to him and grabbed them, gripped them tightly and slid over with ease, barely acknowledging the heights. He fell along the roof and coughed wiping his pants.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, you?"

She shrugged, "I just wanted to get away from him. I hate that guy."

"I know. But he's a friend of mine."

"Why did you have to let him stay with us?"

"I couldn't just leave him out there to die. What was I supposed to do? Love him or hate him, he's a great shooter. We need him."

"And can you believe that shit about his mother?"

"I know."

"Morgan told me how that all happened."

"Oh yeah? How did it happen?"

"She told me that those things were trying to bust in to their apartment and he was fighting them off with that machete he copped off his dad. The building was going crazy and Morgan being the useless cunt as always, just stood there crying as Carlito smacked at them and kept his door shut. Everyone else was going to hell and he didn't even give a shit. Finally when there were too many of them, he just took Morgan and they ducked out of the fire escape. His mom was too sick to really go with them, so Morgan told me he asked her to wait there while he got help. So the whole time she's sitting there screaming, while they're breaking in the door and he and that bitch are making a break for it. He left his mom to die!"

"Lower your voice, please."

"And she doesn't even like him, but she followed him anyway."

"Lower your voice."

"I'm serious! How can you even be "friends" with a guy like that?"

"I didn't know that at the time, alright, but it's too late now."

"Miguel, he's going to betray us, I know it."

"No, he's not, he's just a loud mouth. He always talks without thinking."

"No, he's been talking about going with those assholes for months now, I just know he's going to turn us in when he gets the chance, or—or take that bitch and high tail it. They're going to want something and he's going to finger us."

"I'm not going to let that happen," Miguel swore.

"You can't be sure it won't happen."

"Listen to me," he said clutching her head, "I promise I'll keep those people from finding us, okay? What he did doesn't matter anymore. We're still alive and I'm not going to let them hurt you." Tears ran down her eyes, and she nodded kissing him.

"You stink," she said in a broken voice.

He chuckled, "So do you."

"I haven't taken a bath in almost a year."

He laughed embracing her.


	3. Touch of Grey: Chapter Three

"It's getting dark," Miguel said holding her.

"I know," she whispered, "Can we sleep here tonight?"

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

"I don't want to be around them until tomorrow."

"Alright," he nodded kissing her neck, "We'll sleep here."

There was a long whistle in the distance. Miguel looked over at Carlito who was standing by the ledge looking over. Miguel waved him away and walked off with Steph hand in hand, "Motherfucker is going to give us away to those monsters down there."

"I think that happened a long time ago, anyway," he replied.

"If we have to escape, I don't want them to come after us."

"They're everywhere, in every alley, in every basement. I think we're screwed regardless of how quiet we are."

She laughed nodding in agreement.

"It won't be long now," Carlito muttered.

"For what?" asked Morgan.

"They're making their run around, the nomads."

"Let Miguel know."

"No worries, they'll know well enough. That tank is fucking hard to miss."

"He and that girl of his will probably be sleeping so much they'll miss 'em."

"I can't stand that girl."

"That's because you have a hard on for Miguel."

He thwacked her on the leg, she yelped clutching her knee.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Don't pretend I ain't hit you harder before," he grumbled with a sneer.

"Not the legs though," she shivered holding her knee, "I need these, cocksucker!"

"You keep talking and I'll_ shoot_ them off."

"They'll hear you."

"I'll shoot them, too." He gazed at her, "I'm not no faggot, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded nervously.

"Okay?!"

"Okay!"

He smacked the gun to the floor and looked away angrily. She tried to break the silence and remembered the other bruises she wore from years before.

"Do you still want to try to reason with those people?"

He nodded silently.

"Can I come too? I-I mean, if you do."

"No way," he sucked his teeth, "I want to go it alone."

She pouted, "When are you going to do it?"

"I have to wait."

The lightning sent flashes along the sky blasting courses of thunder and electricity through the air. The slight chill of the impending storm brushed through the roof tops and the black rain began again. Morgan dropped her hood down over her face again and slid back against the brick wall as Carlito stood still looking off in to the distance as the motors became louder and louder. They were there, just not making it very obvious.

"I hate black rain," Steph said nestling up with Miguel.

"Me too, it's disgusting."

"You've drank it, before?"

"Only once," he assured her, "I was really thirsty. It was a month ago, so I don't think it does anything. I had the runs for a while, but that was it."

"Eww."

The thunder clapped. Steph shuddered squeezing against him tighter, "I hate this thunder and lightning."

"We haven't been hit yet," he proclaimed, "It ain't gonna happen now."

"I remember when my pap was hit by lightning during fishing. After that, I always hated being near trees whenever there was a thunderstorm."

"You nearly yanked my arm off that time by the baseball field."

"Yeah, I'm strong when I'm scared."

"You don't have to tell me that," he chuckled.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" he asked furrowing his brows, "You don't remember when you were hanging from that fire escape for a half hour over those shit heads down there?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded, "I nearly dropped after the first ten minutes. That was a scary day. You didn't even hear me calling you."

"I was asleep, how was I supposed to know you'd go snooping?"

"Yeah, well it was a great work out," she joked.

"I wonder where they come from," Carlito said looking through his scope as he and Morgan scouted the roof.

"I don't know," she whispered looking through her binoculars, "There are four trucks, and two tanks." The shadows whizzed past the streets with conscious movement. They were far from the walking dead, and the laughs could be heard even at the distance they were in. There was something going on, they just didn't know what. The thunder clapped and the rain continued. Morgan slid close to Carlito.

"Quit breathing down my fucking neck."

"It's cold," she whined.

"Go crawl in to the apartments or something."

"Very funny," she rolled her eyes.

"I don't know what you're scared of. Those things are shells now. The fucking army blasted these places for the survivors."

"Yeah, and they didn't do a goddamn thing, just killed a lot of innocent poor people, made new walking dead, and pissed off the already moving ones."

"You're just mad because your family was one of the people in those explosions."

"Fuck you."

"It's been four months."

"You're an asshole," she sneered.

"Go sleep over there with Miguel and Steph if I'm such an asshole, then."

"They're not there," she replied.

"Yes, they are."

"They went sliding to another area or something."

"I hate it when they do that."

"Hey…"

"What?"

"Are you really going to try to leave with the nomads?"

"Mind your business."

"Come on, I won't tell them."

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'm just looking for the right time. They always come by shooting at us or something, I figure if I'm nice enough they'll let me get a word in edge wise or something and they'll let me come along with them. Those people are survivors, the ones making their own world out of this."

"I wonder how they did it."

"Numbers, fire power, and balls," he declared, "Not like those people shipped off to the camps, you know?"

Morgan nodded contemplating his plans.

"Look," she whispered pointing up in the distance.

"They're still dropping food in the streets," Carlito gasped as a plane flew over dropping a large crate in to the middle of a street far off in to the city.

"Damn," she sighed, "It's still too far off."

"They're only dropping them in to the shopping areas and camps," he groaned, "Fuck, those are dead zones, how do they not know that by now?"

"The nomads probably keep scooping them up or something."

He nodded looking off as gun fire blasted overhead.

"What the fuck is that?" Morgan asked dropping her head.

"They're being attacked," Carlito watched in amusement, "Shit look at that! They're taking them down without a problem." They saw the bodies falling one after another as ATV's blasted past them through the back alleys with AK-47's dropping them in instances.

One of the bikers was knocked off his bike by a brave dead head and rebounded quickly, fighting his way out of a group to splash a spree of fire power on them bringing them to the ground. The dogs were walking in packs past the groups of the dead and dragged a small rotting child in to a corner alley as it growled scratching along the floor fighting them off weakly. The two pit bulls began tearing its arms relentlessly as the smaller dogs went in for a few bites of their own anxiously. Stephanie fell to the ground with a thump and panted as Miguel slid behind her falling next to her with slightly more balance. "That was good, babe," he assured her.

"It's getting easier," she sighed in relief.

"We'll keep practicing everyday, alright?"

"We're really far," she said seeing their hide out a few buildings.

"Don't worry," he said looking up, "They're not missing us too much." Stephanie looked down at the group of dogs eating the child and covered her mouth looking down at the child who was still squirming and growling as her innards and body were torn off by the ravenous mutts.

She couldn't fathom how every part of its body was being torn to shreds and it was still looking up at her with chomping jaws. Patches of black hair covered her tan skinned forehead where most of her skull had been picked clean along with her right eye. She turned cowering into the corner and looked over to Miguel who'd dozed off leaning against a small tar slope next to a skylight. She crawled over to him with a slight soft whimper nestling her head in to his chest. The black rain stopped finally.

"How many times?" Makem whispered to himself panting, "How many times are you going to fuck with me?" He panted and smacked his hip, "This is the fourth time today you've conked out on me. You've locked, wrenched, spasmed and now you're aching. Is it the rain? Is it the humidity?" He wiped the water from his forehead feeling it drop down along his cloak and panted taking a deep exhale. "Alright, fine, be like that," he muttered stopping at a corner, "You want to be my worst enemy, right? You couldn't have been bionic or something…" He stood at the fork in the road and spun looking for a direction. He was so entrenched in his conversation he didn't even remember where he came from, "Here's another fine mess you've gotten me in to." He turned furrowing his brows, "I mean, I wish I could have been like those funny books where I awake and suddenly most of my body is robotic or I was injected with some funny blood that made me invisible…" He sighed nodding.

"I'm lost…" He stood still, "That's your fault. It can't be my fault, I have the brains in this outfit, but then… you're deciding when to work, aren't you?" He looked down at his hip, "I'm standing here for more than a minute and you stopped hurting. That's funny…" He decided. It was East he was going. Why? He thought going in the opposite direction all the time would lead him somewhere safe or warm. "My hip hurts, my hip hurts, my hip hurts," he sang barely moving his lips, "And it's getting worse. I wish I was on a bed and resting my head, but now I'm about to die from the living dead…" He stopped and slowly halted his singing. "Okay," he whispered, "That's not a good sound." The groaning sounds rose louder and louder. "Okay, fuck," he panicked turning around quickly, "Where am I? Where are you?" He took out his monkey wrench and raised it. The heads popped up from the horizon where he came from, and he dropped to the ground looking up near them, "They saw me? Did they see me?" He grunted holding his hip.

"They followed me," he deduced, "They were following me. Why? Ow…" He clutched his hip, "Ow…" He cringed staying still. "They're coming in to the bridge!" Greg screamed pounding his fist along the wheel.

"That's not doing anything!" Makem yelled.

"I can see them," Greg yelled. He stuck his head out, "Come on! We have to get through!" He looked out on to rows and rows and rows of cars stuck in place, the sounds of motors and horns blasting along the bridge floor as helicopters blasted over head, firing in to the cars as motorists screamed. "We have to get out!" Greg screamed turning his motor off.

"We can't get out, listen to me!" Makem grabbed him, "We can't get out! They're firing on everyone who tries to leave, we're stuck!"

"We're going to die here!" Greg cried, "I'm not going to die here like an animal!" Greg unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door and bent down, "Come on!"

"Fuck!" Makem grunted chasing after him.

"Where are we going?" Makem asked as other motorists fled past the cars avoiding the growing hordes of walking dead slowly making their way in to the city.

"I don't know, but we have to get out of this place!" Greg yelled looking around. Gun fire went off in the distance as the screams of women were heard. The gunfire went off above them. The gunfire went off in front of them, and the growls were heard coming up behind them. "Greg!" Makem yelled. He stood still and looked around. "Makem, come on!" He grabbed his hand and they ran across the bridge in to the large suspension wires. "No! No!" Makem yelled.

"Just stay holding my hand, okay?" Greg yelled, "Hold my hand and we'll climb down!" The gunfire became wilder around them. "Come on." They turned climbing down as the crowds of survivors screamed attempting the same exit route. Men and women dived in to the water, and the sea below them was soon crowed with bodies both dead, unconscious and rising from their deaths. "Focus, Makem," Greg pleaded, "We just have to get across; that's all!" They began slowly walking around the bottom as they could just see the shambling shadows inches above them unaware of their presence and seeping in to the city blocks and highways.

"Come on, come on…" Makem whispered with his eyes closed back at the fork in the road, "What, what, what, what, what…? What do I do?" He sheathed his wrench and ran for his life without looking back. He sped past the fences of backyards where the dead smacked their hands at his presence and continued running knowing he could outlast them for a certain period of time. They didn't run anymore, which was his advantage, but they didn't sleep, eat, or slow down, which is where he was screwed. After minutes of passing past the walking dead who were barred behind their fences, he soon realized that the day had run away from him. His hip was throbbing and bursting in flames from the endless running and his hands were cut from his constant jumping along broken cars and jagged fences. At one point he'd found a clearing to run past but was confronted by three drifters who were more than unhappy to let him pass them. They tried for running as he fled past them, but to no avail.

The sun had come down but finally the rain stopped. His bottom lip was still shivering from the cold black rain that fell for literal hours, and he struggled to see straight while tending to his hip, hands, and chill. He found a tool shed and wasted no time jumping up on to the roof. He had no idea where he'd run and in what direction. His plan of just going in a straight line was diminished earlier with his constant turns, crosses, and circle journeys. He stood up looking around and stood still as he saw motion in a yard only a mile off in to the North West sector of the small back suburb. The backyards were covered by grey stones and were high enough to prevent any of the drifters from getting in, but high enough to jump over. He saw as a small figure walked out to the back and was pulled in by a larger figure who wagged their finger at him authoritatively and nudged him in. The shadow looked out and closed the barred door behind them. The candle light went out.

"Oh my god…" He sighed slumping his shoulder. He clutched his head in surprise and was overwhelmed with thoughts. Should he brave hiding in there? Who was in the house? How many of survivors were in there? Were they hiding the dead with them? Was it almost impossible to climb that fence? How else would they have been there so long? He sat down and watched the window as the curtains closed in every part of the house, and suddenly the movement halted. "I don't want to die!" Makem whimpered. "Come on, we're almost there!" Greg yelled as they made it past the miles of walking dead in to the city. They stood at the gates and fled fast as lightning as other survivors following their leads ran behind them avoiding the soldiers and speeding cars. "Where are we going?" Makem tackled Greg as an EMT truck plowed in to a crowd of innocent bystanders exploding. The screams and cries scattered as the ball of flame splashed in to the sky. Two other survivors remained with the couple as the large group from the bridge spread off in to separate directions.

"Come on, don't waste time!" A cop said running up ahead of them. Glass blew from the shopping centers as looters ran out from the broken walls with televisions and radios as the dead seeped in to the stores where looters broke in to. Suddenly the chaos turned from looting to all out chaos as the screams emerged and looters ran out from the windows without items but bearing vicious bites along their bodies. Two scrawny teenage black girls fought off four of the dead with crowbars screaming and bashing their heads as they growled clawing at them. The sight was overwhelming to the two who ran for their lives but could barely stand to turn away from the carnage. Greg yelled running up ahead of him, "Makem, come on!"

The rain began again. Makem cursed the skies muttering obscenities and lowered his head shuddering from the cold rain splashing down along his shoulders. Every time he began to build his body temperature back, he could feel the creeping hand of hypothermia tapping his shoulder, and he was angry. If this rain continued he'd freeze to death and there'd be no need to keep running. He had to get to that house and beg on his hands and knees for help. He was willing to beg. He felt his hip crack from maintaining his position for so long and he stretched it. It was one last effort. If this didn't help, he'd made a decision. He'd take one last bullet in his mouth and quit. This wasn't going anywhere, and he was ready to stop trying. Screw his promise. He dropped down and listened for any of the creeping dead. He took a sprint and ran fast through the years past the shadows that loomed down the streets.

He jumped over the fences wearily and rushed up past two houses so quickly the residents inside barely noticed him at all. He rushed in to a playground and saw two small shambling figures growl reaching for him. He muttered to himself and finally approached the stone wall. He could barely breathe. His hip felt almost detached and his eyes were blurry, but he had to take one last leap. He clawed his hands in to the stone and began climbing anxiously as he saw two shadows creeping up around the corner. He climbed faster and slipped dropping to the floor. They saw him and growled rushing up. He turned kicking them away and jumped up again grunting and climbed up out of their reach as they clawed for his cloak anxiously. He turned swinging his leg over and jumped down landing in to the yard with a wet thump.

He lay there panting and wheezing and looked up in to the black clouds as the lightning splashed across the sky. He looked over and saw the candle go on in the patio door. He sat up and looked out on to the large backyard. The walls covered all of the perimeter and the small garden gnomes were covered in endless rows of vegetables and small fruit trees being doused by the water. The swing and small slide were pressed up against the side windows. He stood up and snuck up to the back door listening in. There was a distinct conscious motion, but he wondered how to broach the entrance.

Darkness grew on the back door, and a shadow crept slowly up to the door. The doorknob fumbled anxiously, a small glass slid into the slot, and there was a loud click in the silence. The door knob turned and slowly the door swung open bumping against the table. There was soft breathing that broke through the quiet, and a blast cut through the air of the night. He screamed being blasted along the backyard, and Julian appeared from the darkness turning on her lights. He groaned looking up. She pointed and cocked the dun, "No, wait! Wait!" He screamed.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Please, I'm alive!" he yelled.

"I don't care, who are you?"

"I'm not here to hurt you, I just need somewhere to hide!"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes," he grunted in pain. She noticed his slight Iranian accent. "Please, I need help. Please…"

"We all do, young man," she said setting the shotgun down, "Just because you wish it, doesn't mean it'll be granted." She walked over to him, and Lull, a small boy ran out looking behind her.

"What happened?" he panted.

"Go back to bed, everything is fine, dear."

"I thought it was..."

"It's not," she assured him, "What did you do when you heard the commotion?"

"I went to the crawlspace."

"Good boy," she scoffed turning to Makem, "How did you get in?"

"I climbed over. None of them saw me, okay? Please..."

"Alright," she sighed sympathizing, "Come on." He sat at the table without a shirt, and grunted as Julian picked the pellets from his shoulder.


	4. Touch of Grey: Chapter Four

Makem yelped, "That is painful."

"I know," she said, "I missed you by a few feet. My eyes are fading."

"You could have taken off my shoulder."

"You jumped over my wall and complain?"

"Sorry," he lowered his head.

Julian grumbled dropping the bloody pellets to the dish. But Lull, as he typically was, sat curiously watching the two talk and leaned over the table watching her jab into him. "Lull," Julian said furrowing her brows.

"What?"

"What do you mean _what_? The table is for eating not for lying on."

"Sorry," he pouted leaning back.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she warned.

"What's your name?" asked Lull.

"Makem."

"What?" he furrowed his brows.

"Makem Yousafzai."

"What?" he asked confused.

"You can just pronounce it as Makem," he smirked.

"Like Mock 'em," Julian joked, "But don't mock him."

Lull giggled.

Julian lifted his arm dabbing at a cut, "Tell me Makem, what are you?"

"Iranian."

"And you lived this long?"

"Why is that surprising?"

"I don't know," she said dabbing at his wound, "It's just something you say in this situation, I guess."

"How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Seventy," she replied, "My name is Julian. And that's my grandson John."

"Lull."

"Lull, right," she sneered, "Lull." She rolled her eyes.

"Why Lull?"

"My mom gave that nickname to me," he replied, "She said I was born with droopy eyes, almost like I was sleepy."

"That makes sense," he chuckled, "Where's your mom?" Lull lowered his head shrugging.

"I'm sorry," Makem said.

"You didn't mean anything," Julian said assuring Lull, "Right?"

"I know, grandma."

"How long have you been here?" asked Makem.

"Since it all started, during the whole chaos," she scoffed, "The walls keep them out, and I'm not too bad with the firearms, either. My husband left them behind before he died. So... they've served me well."

"Amazing," he whispered, "You two... ? When this happened, the newsman said not many people would survive this. Especially the... older people."

"Well, I agree. But we were lucky."

"How do you eat?"

"We make due," she explained, "I have a garden out back, we save the seeds of everything we eat, and... well, we just make due, I'll say that much."

"Look, I'm sorry I broke into your home. I was... desperate, and this place seemed safe and secure. I don't expect you to trust me."

"How did you figure on coming here?" she asked, "Are you alone?"

"I saw you two far away… I was just resting on a roof and saw you and was so desperate and tired that I just tried it. I didn't know you'd have a shotgun."

"You figured to forcing your way in here, right?"

"No, of course not," he insisted, "I was just going to…"

"Manipulate your way in here."'

He sighed, "No…"

"Listen here, we have no room for stragglers or wanderers so if you figured to guilting me in to letting you room with us, you're wrong."

"Just hear me…"

"No," she smacked her scissors on the table, "You listen. You're intruding on us, you almost let those bastards in and for all I know that commotion sent some of the nomads our way. I don't know you, and I don't trust you. I could have blown your fucking brains out there for all you know."

"Why didn't you?"

"You didn't fire back."

He pursed his lips.

"You got no authority here, and you definitely have no influence, so I do all the talking, and you listen, got me?"

He nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

"_You_ need _us_," she declared leaning over him.

He nodded silently.

"Just… Just give me two days. I'm begging you."

There was a long silence as Julian continued patching his arms up.

"Can he stay, grandma?"

"Lull, please."

"I'd be appreciative, ma'am. Please."

"How do we know we can trust you?"

"Take my gun," he handed it to her, "And, and... I'll sleep in the living room. Just please, for at least two days."

"I'll think about it."

"How old are you?" asked Lull scratching his head.

"Thirty. You?"

"Eight," he smiled with a grin that showed some of his teeth missing.

Lull observed him, "What did you do before this happened?"

"Lull--"

"--What?"

"--That's enough with the questions, already."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Makem shrugged, "He's curious. There's not much to learn these days." He shrugged, "I don't mind it." He was tan, with messy black hair, a hint of a mustache, droopy eyes, and bearing a rather calm demeanor that signaled a man clearly battling all the horrors on the outside. She bandaged his shoulder and stood up.

"What did you do before this ended?"

"I was a lawyer," he replied, "Uh... I was just getting into the practice when all of this happened."

"Yeah, my mom was a doctor." He leaned in with a whisper, "She used to looked at girls' privates."

"Lull!" Julian barked.

"Sorry," he muttered shrinking in his seat.

Makem laughed clutching his shoulder.

"You don't seem very upset for someone your age."

"I cry all the time," he admitted, "But grandma needs my help most times."

"Good thinking," Makem nodded, "She's tough."

"Yeah," he scoffed, "She's scary, too."

Makem laughed.

"You want to see how scary I can really get?" she threatened. Lull's eyes widened. She gave a signal to be quiet. He nodded and sat back.

"I've been looking everywhere," Makem explained, "I don't know what for, though. I keep getting lost and looking for anything. The cars are crap, there are no people, and I can't find any of the safe havens."

"They're out there," Julian replied.

"Really?"

"There just aren't many of them left is all," Julian declared.

"I know," Makem nodded looking back at her standing at the stove, "I've looked everywhere, but as the days go by, they're getting into every corner of the city…"

"Will they get in here?" Lull asked.

"No, honey," Julian said, "He's just talking about unprotected areas." She met eyes, and he nodded in agreement, "Yes, that's what I meant. Sorry."

"But the safe havens out there. I can hope."

"I hope so, too," he nodded, "I was looking--"

"--Do you know any jokes?" asked Lull.

"Jokes?" Makem asked confused.

"Riddles or something."

"Knock Knock jokes?"

"I hate knock knock jokes."

"Lull, be nice," Julian warned.

"Well, I think I might know some," he thought.

"Can you tell me one?"

"Lull, enough."

"Just one and I'll stay quiet. I promise."

"Now you're promising miracles."

"Okay," Makem chuckled, "Um...," he shrugged struggling to think up one, "Why was the baby ant so confused?"

Lull thought, "Why?"

"All of his uncles were ants."

Lull giggled leaning back.

"Oh god," Julian groaned nodding her head.

"It's the best I have," Makem shrugged, "Now, about the safehaven...?"

"…Yes, the only safehaven left is in Texas."

"Texas?" he turned anxiously, "Really?! That's not far! How do you know?"

"It was on the radio when all the stations shut down. The haven there set up a frequency that could probably call out to those still alive. It's been a month since the frequency stopped going out, but... it's an option."

"Of course," he said enthusiastically, "It's an option. We could try."

"How?"

"You don't have a car?"

"I don't even know if it would work."

"Of course it would."

"There's no proof the safe haven still exists."

"It's worth a shot, don't you think?"

"There's no proof it's still there. Remember all the churches and Red Cross zones set up for the survivors? They went down within a week."

"B-But I could help…"

"…I don't want to leave," Lull admitted, "I don't want to go out there."

"Don't you want to be in a safer place? With food? And people? And, and community?"

"I'm not leaving," Lull declared.

"You're tired, go to bed, okay?"

Lull nodded and walked off.

"Listen you, you can stay here, but as long as you're under my roof, you'll follow my rules. Don't you dare get his hopes up like that."

"Like what? I was just saying..."

"…Don't just _say_," she replied sternly, "Got it? He's had everything smashed to pieces, the last thing he needs is some stranger building his hope up."

"I don't want to be here--"

"--Then leave, what the hell do I care?"

"I don't want to be here, but I have no choice. Don't you want to leave too?"

"I'm old, you think I'd make it out there by myself? And with a kid no less?"

"I have to try for it," he urged, "I just have to."

"Here," she said slipping him a paper, "The directions. I wrote them down the first time I heard the frequency. It's been sitting on my table ever since."

"My god," he said reading the paper, "This is fucking excellent."

"It's probably not even still standing, or maybe it's been mandated by the government, or nomads, who knows."

"It's still worth a shot."

"Have at it, then. You're young and mobile, but as for me I'm just waiting for the inevitable," she replied shrugging, "If I die, I'm dying here. I'm not letting any goddamn walking shit heads force me out of here. Those government people tried to force me to go to some base with them. Hah. Two weeks gone by and they were taken down by those things, and I'm still here. I showed those bozos."

"So, I could take this?"

"If you want, then try for it." She sighed, "Want some tea?"

"Tea?"

"We still have hot water."

"Okay," he scoffed.

"My husband, god rest his soul, always had tea before dinner. It made him hungry all the time."

"Did he die during this?"

"Thankfully no. He died of Leukemia a few years before all of... well, this."

"He's lucky."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You had family, I assume," Julian said.

"Lots of them. Brothers, uncles, and the like. I just... you learn to live with it, you know? Eventually, you begin focusing less on grief and more on survival."

"They end up living through the memories," Julian explained, "You can live through the memories, but not too much. It takes focus away from the now and you die."

"I try to stay focused."

"Yep... that's how you do it."

"Uh... for someone named "Lull," he's very excitable."

"It's not often he comes across human contact anymore. He seems to like you some." He folded the paper.

"And that's good?"

"Yes, I'd say so," she replied. She staggered over to the chair and dropped down with a groan.

"This is the first time I've been off my feet in days."

He gave a heavy sigh.

"So… if I went… could I come back for you?"

"You could try," she nodded, "But if you've seen how it is out there…"

"I owe it to Lull to at least try," he shrugged.

"If you somehow find human contact that wants to help, then you come back here and get Lull, okay?" They met eyes. He nodded slowly.

"It's quiet here most of the time, but they get riled up during the day when there's the slightest commotion. The wall here has been pretty sturdy, which is good. My husband built it after we got robbed and it's very strong."

"Thank god I even made it to this place. I was willing to take any chance I could."

"Well, if Lull likes you, we'll see how it goes. So, you can stay as long as I say. Or until that paper burns a hole in your hand."

He smirked.

"I've been through World War 2, The Depression, and abuse, and... this is the scariest thing I've ever seen."

"I know," he muttered, "I'm afraid of losing it, sometimes... I don't know why, but I always come back and snap out of it."

"You have to keep your head. My head is screwed on tightly by Lull everyday."

"That's good."

"Did you have kids?"

"No, thank god."

"A... girlfriend, or wife?"

"No," he muttered.

"Why not? You're a good looking man--"

"--I'm gay." She stared a second. Then she gave a humph of surprise and shrugged, "That's interesting."

"You're not surprised."

"No," she smiled, "Like I've said, this scares me more than anything I've ever been through, a gay man in my home is the least of my problems right now."

He chuckled.

"Did you have a... uh... what do you call it, husband, lover, partner, mate, what?"

"Just a friend, I guess. I loved him. But... he didn't make it."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. Lull lost his mother, and... when she died, he didn't grieve much. Sure, he loved her, but he just seemed to accept it. Or maybe he was just too young to dwell on it."

"How did she die?"

"I'm not too sure. She left him here for me to take care of and drove off to look for some help for his sister, and... that was it. She never came back. Lull told me about his sister being attacked and his mom being bitten and just bringing him here. She left my granddaughter to die from what I heard. He doesn't talk about it."

"She may still be alive."

"Look at how long it's been," she smirked, "She's dead... and we've accepted that. And grieved. And mourned. And kept watch for her." She clutched her gun tightly.

"Ah," he nodded knowingly.

"How's the tea?" she asked sipping hers.

"It's...," he cringed.

"I know," she scoffed, "But it does the trick in relaxing you."

"Yeah, my mum loved it, herself."

Later, Julian dropped a large pillow and sheets down along the large blue couch and held her hand out, "Enjoy the couch, and don't bother to sleep in. I wake up very early to get the day's work done, and I am pretty noisy. My door will be locked, as will Lull's. You try anything and I'll kill you."

"You have my word," Makem swore.

"I'm putting my faith in the notion that there's still good people left."

"I swear."

"I'm locking up the rooms, so try to sleep."

"Thank you, Julian."

She nodded and turned walking up the steps slowly. His hip was still throbbing and the clinking of the rain filled the silence with the boarded windows and barred door thumping from the heavy water.

He reveled in the warmth of the couch and closed his eyes quickly falling out of his surroundings. "How do I patch it up? Tell me."

"I don't know," Greg said with his eyes glazed over, "Just get the toilet paper and wrap it." Makem wiped the blood from his face and walked past two women who sat on a couch watching the television. He grabbed the paper towels and rushed past them. "The streets are littered with bodies and blood as the second wave of police is preparing to clear the shopping areas of the walking dead who have continued invading apartments all around the city, these things are unstoppable…"

"How is he?" Ellen, a dark haired Hispanic teenager girl asked standing by the kitchen. "He's not well," Makem said wrapping Greg's shoulder as he sat along the floor, his blood smeared along the white tiles as the thumping persisted in the bedroom.

Greg yelped and whimpered smacking his head against the stove.

"We locked them in the hallway, so they shouldn't come in here," she explained.

"I can't believe we came up here, it was suicide," Makem replied.

"It was all we could do, they cornered us," she replied, "I'm sorry we followed you two. We were scared."

"I know," he nodded.

"We didn't know what to do…" she quivered breaking in to a fit of tears.

"Just go in the living room and calm down, okay?" Makem assured her, "I'll take care of him." She nodded whimpering and walked back to the couch.

"I don't know how to stop the bleeding," Makem quivered.

"It really hurts," Greg whimpered, "It's not just a bite it…" he cringed.


	5. Touch of Grey: Chapter Five

"I know," he caressed his face, "There's so much blood."

"They bite hard," Greg said mumbling incoherently, "They bite so hard…!"

"Shh, shhh," Makem rested his head against his cheek.

"I don't, I was just trying to be…"

"…You were very brave," Makem said forcing a scoff.

"The kids, they just… they needed my help," Greg sighed, and whimpered loudly, "I couldn't let them die!" He held his arm up and wore the large gaping hole where two of the dead had bitten in to and tore. Makem couldn't believe it, but the bone was bare.

"It's bad, right? It's bad."

"I don't know," Makem shrugged lying.

"It's bad, it's very bad."

"You just have to relax, you're going to bleed to death."

"I don't want to be one of those things," Greg cried sobbing.

Makem grasped his head and kissed him, "You're not, I swear."

He sighed and nodded, "They bite hard…"

"Quiet," Makem pleaded, "You have to save your energy."

Greg nodded turning his head and closed his eyes.

"What do you feel?"

"My mouth is dry," he explained panting, "I'm really cold…"

"You're going to be okay. Once we… once we stop the bleeding we can try to leave or find a hospital, okay?"

"We've been here for a day already," Greg groaned, "We can't get to a hospital, and I'm getting sickers."

"Shh, shh," Makem whispered.

"It's not good," he chuckled cringing, "You have to leave."

"I can't leave you here," Makem insisted, "You got me off the bridge, I'm getting you out of here, I swear to you." Makem sat beside him and Greg slid down resting his head along his lap curling in to a ball. Makem restrained his whimpers and kissed his head as Greg shivered and bled out along the floor. "It doesn't hurt anymore," Greg assured him. Makem nodded silently forcing a smile. The lights all went out, the two girls curled up along the couch whimpering as the roars of the crowds below spread along the city. Police sirens, screams, growls, all of it could be heard with none of the buzz and droning of the electronics, but Makem didn't care.

He sat with Greg as he fell asleep weathering the massive wound along his arm. He slid his hand over to the floor and lifted the monkey wrench, raised it up and smacked it down along his head. The girls heard the wet thunks behind them as Makem raised his wrench and slammed it down on to his skull repeatedly. Ellen and her mate stood up and watched as Makem crouched down over Greg smashing him endlessly as his legs flinched with every hit. After minutes of slams, Makem leaned over and whimpered loudly calling his name as the pool of blood painted the rug and floors. He wondered if Greg felt a thing. The thumps were heard from the dead in the bedroom, and outside their doors. Ellen nodded in tears, looked back at the window, turned, and ran off the balcony with a scream falling four flights below in to crowds. Makem awoke with a gasp and sat up. There was a rattling in the distance.

Lull sat on the steps looking by the door. He flinched in brief fright and sighed leaning back onto his pillow, "What are you doing? You scared the hell out of me."

"Ooh, you cursed!"

"Sorry, uh… you just scared me is all."

"I didn't mean to."

"What are you doing there?" he asked irate.

"They're rattling."

"What is?"

"They are," he muttered with a blank gaze. He sat up and heard the scratching along the thin gates.

"They're at the door?" Makem asked sitting up.

"No, just at the gates," Lull replied.

"Don't go into the front," Julian warned hobbling down the stairs.

"Why not?" asked Makem.

"The front is bad," Lull explained, "The sides and backyard are okay."

"Alright," he nodded.

"Don't go out that door," Julian warned.

"I know, gramma."

"I was talking to Makem," she declared walking past him in the steps, "And don't listen, Lull. It'll give you nightmares."

"I keep thinking they're going to--"

"--They're not getting in," she replied, "And I've told you this for years."

"I know, but they're getting angrier and angrier," he replied, "I like saw them outside last night."

"You looked out the goddamn window?"

"Only for a second."

Julian smacked him on the head. Lull flinched cowering, "I told you a thousand times, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry, gramma," Lull pouted.

She huffed momentarily and rolled her eyes.

"Come on sweety, let's go out back and get some food."

"Okay," he sighed standing up, "Want to come, Makem?"

"Sure," he huffed hearing the growling in front. He limped up to the kitchen entrance. "What's wrong?" Lull asked.

"Uh… my hip hurts. It's swollen, I think."

"Why?"

"It was an accident a few years ago."

"We're all ears," Julian replied serving the small portion of food to him.

"It was a, uh… hit and run on the highway. I was walking to a gas station and someone just smacked me with their car head on. They found me in front of a gas pump and took me to the hospital. Thankfully only my hip was broken. But… right now, "thankfully" is a word I can't use without getting angry."

"Did they ever find the bastard?" Julian asked.

"I don't think so," he shrugged, "It was… a weird time. Only about a year after 9/11, so I don't think the police looked for the driver too hard, you know?"

She pursed her lips annoyed, "That's terrible."

"Thanks." He stretched it out from under the table and grunted cringing, "So… whenever it rains, or is humid, the hip flares up. Not that it matters anymore." There was a long silence and Lull looked over to Makem, "I cut my finger really bad once when I was a kid." Makem broke in to laughter, "Is that so?"

"Yeah, my neighbor's dog bit me and it was bleeding. My mom took me to the hospital and I had to have two stitches!" He held his pointer finger out, "See? It's almost gone, but they said I'd get a scar. It's not a bad scar, but it kind of looks like someone winking at me when I squint my eyes."

"I see," Makem said observing his barely noticeable cut.

"The doctor gave it a needle and suddenly I didn't feel anything anymore, it was cool," he smiled, "And then my mom…"

"Lull, for Pete's sake, you're talking his ears off," Julian groaned chopping carrots. He slumped down halting his discussion. He waved over to Makem and he leaned over. Lull looked back at Julian and whispered, "They had to put the dog to sleep because of me," Lull bragged.

"It wasn't because of you," Julian argued, "That dumb dog used to kill cats and attacked six of the neighborhood kids," she explained. Makem nodded silently winking.

Lull gasped looking back.

"Yes! Yes, it was. Maggie told me so."

"Maggie is a liar, then."

"She smelled and stuff, too."

"That's not a nice thing to say about the dead, Lull."

"I'm sorry," he frowned.

"Uh, who was…?"

"…His big sister," Julian explained turning to him, "She was this cute fourteen year old thing who used to fib to him to make things a little more exciting for him. That's how he got that crazy imagination and those flapping gums currently keeping you busy." Makem scoffed.

"Oh…," Makem nodded looking away.

"It's one of the first real conversations he's had with someone in a long time," Julian replied, "Ugh, I miss the days when he talked only to his stuffed animals."

"They talk back," Lull argued.

"And so do you," Julian grumbled.

"Did Maggie talk a lot?" Makem asked.

Lull smiled and nodded, "She died, too."

"What?" he muttered with a frown.

"She died, too," Lull explained, "She… got bit everywhere. Her elbow and face, and… legs… and I think her ears."

"And you saw all of this?"

"Only some of it," he pouted, "I was coming back from school and these guys started chasing me. Maggie grabbed me and told them to go home, and when I went inside they jumped on her started biting her. The police didn't come but mom chased them off and we left her. Before we left, my mom packed my stuff and my sister was all bloody and gross and started biting my mom's arms and making weird noises… my mom hit her with a bat and we left her, and then…"

"…Lull, that's enough storytelling for today. Go read or something." He frowned slumping his shoulder and nodded walking off.

"I want to play my game," he complained.

"There's not enough electricity, you know that."

He tisked storming off. Julian turned and staggered over slowly sitting down in front of him, "My, my," she panted wiping her forehead, "I've been on my feet all day long. And there's so much of it left, too!" Makem smiled and braved discussion again.

"I'm really sorry for asking those questions."

"It wasn't your fault," she assured him, "He hasn't talked about it for a long time. I'm surprised, actually. Which is rare, because Lull is a weird kid and I stopped being surprised by him after he was three. But at least he's doing something other than trying to get in to the backyard." Makem looked back hearing Lull run in to the bathroom.

"He actually saw his sister get killed?"

"That's how he tells it, at least," she shrugged, "I don't know if that's the full story. His imagination is weird and he makes stuff up sometimes, so… maybe it's the way it happened or… maybe it was worse. The sister thing doesn't seem fake though. She was always picking at him, but she took care of him… so…" She shrugged pouring the carrot bits in to the bowl, "I just know his eyes have seen too much too soon. He's not right in the head, anymore." Makem nodded pursing his lips, "I'm not either."

"Everyone who survived are nut jobs," she scoffed, "Have you seen those nomads, yet?" He nodded. "That's a surprise."

"Why?"

"Because they're just as dangerous as the dead," she warned, "Those assholes were stealing little kids from homes and breaking shelters for a few weeks when this started. I don't know why I was spared, that's something I wrack my brain over. I thank the good lord they spared me."

"Nomads?" Makem asked thinking to himself, "I haven't seen anyone in months." He shrugged thinking, "That's astonishing."

"When they're stripping you of your clothes and taking your supplies, it ain't so astonishing anymore. They're dangerous," she warned, "They have no morals. Because there's no law but their own anymore. They gang rape women and men, kill animals, and have their own world beyond this."

"I never seen them before."

"If you get deep enough, you might."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I told you, they were breaking in to every house from here to San Francisco. I don't know why they spared me to this day, but they did." She stood up jabbing her knife in to his chest, "And so help me god if you're one of them, I'll kill you."

"Julian?" he gasped holding his hands up.

"You hear me?" She jabbed him, "Hmm?"

"Okay, okay!" he said nervously, "I promise I'm not one of them! Stop, please…" She held it point first and noticed the small dab of blood on the end of her knife, "I'll cut your fucking throat in the middle of the night," she warned him, "I don't know if you're a scout or undercover or something--"

"--I'm not," he argued, "Please, I'm not. I swear on my life I'm just trying to get by like you and Lull. I'll be on my way in the morning." She stood over him and observed him as his eyes shook in fear.

"Alright," she growled sitting back down, "Go clean up, and leave Lull alone."

He slumped down shaking and panted looking off. He stood in front of the mirror in the dark bathroom and lifted his shirt looking down at seven small flesh wounds along his hairy chest. "Mother of god…" he whispered flinching from the cuts, "Oh Christ, she's a nutter. Jesus fucking Christ."

"You're cursing," Lull muttered, "I'm gonna tell." Makem flinched turning around. "Can you stop that?" Makem pleaded panting.

"You don't have to be so mean about it," he tisked.

"Where are you?" Makem asked looking around. He tore the bathroom curtains to the side and looked up at him. Lull sat with a light around his head, his sheets tucked around his legs and a large pillow behind his head. "What are you doing there?"

"Reading," he said holding his book up, "This is the quietest place in the house."

"Aren't you afraid of getting wet?"

He nodded looking down at the book.

"How long have you been there?"

"Two hours I think," he squinted scratching his head, "You curse a lot. Gramma punishes me when I do it. It's not fair."

"Kids aren't supposed to curse."

"I'm not a kid."

"Fine, fine," Makem scoffed.

"Are you English?" he asked.

"I think so, I have the accent," Makem joked.

"How do you become English?"

"Be born in Europe."

Lull scoffed, "Hey what clothing does a house wear?"

Makem shrugged, "I give up."

"Come on, try."

He pretended to think and shrugged, "I don't know."

"Address!"

Makem forced a smile, "Address…?"

"Address… A Dress."

"Oh!" Makem chuckled rolling his eyes.

"I thought it was funny," Lull declared.

"That's an interesting hiding spot," he said relieved.

"I saw it on a TV show once, and I started doing it."

"You must have scared a lot of people."

"Not really," he shrugged, "But my family used to forget I was in the bathroom and do stuff thinking they were alone. My dad went number two, and I saw my sister's friend naked!" He chuckled proudly.

"That must have been interesting," Makem furrowed his brows.

"It was cool."

"Uh huh," he nodded with his arms crossed, "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Okay," he muttered shutting off the light.

He sat at the toilet leaning back.

"Your hip still hurts?"

Makem nodded closing his eyes.

"How bad? From 1-10."

"1 to 10?"

"My dad used to say that to Maggie."

"A seven," he shrugged.

"Is it broke?"

"No, no," he assured him, "I just gotta rest and it gets better."

Lull nodded drawing his attention to his book.

"What are you reading there?"

"Just some library book about a cop."

Makem nodded.

"I never returned it."

Makem sighed leaning back on the toilet. Lull looked up at Makem and scratched his head looking away.

"What?" Makem noticed his contemplation.

"Are you staying?" Lull asked.

"Why?"

Lull shrugged, "It gets boring here."

"Don't you like being with your grandma?"

"I love her, but she doesn't like to talk too much, and I don't have any brothers."

Makem pursed his lips, "I'll see what I can do, alright?" He stood up and walked toward the door, "Can we camp out later?"

"A camp out?" Makem asked confused.

"I mean in my room, just us."

Makem shrugged, "We can do that."

Lull smiled and slid the curtains back against the wall. He turned to the door.

"I don't think your gramma likes me very much."

"She always acts like that. She's a grouch."

"Yeah, but she's nice."

Lull nodded and opened the curtains a bit, "I can spell Infantry, wanna hear?"

Makem nodded.

"I-N-F…A-N-T-R-Y."

"That's good," he clapped.

Lull smirked and closed the curtains again.


	6. Touch of Grey: Chapter Six

"How are you feeling?" Julian asked.

"Well, I can't complain," Makem sighed sitting down at the kitchen table, "I've never been stabbed before."

"I'm sorry about that, but I have to protect Lull."

"Killing me wouldn't have done that."

"For a long time it was just me and the kid, don't you dare stick your nose down at me," she grunted.

"Fine, have it your way," he replied, "But I think we should look around and examine what type of security this house has."

"We're fine," Julian replied.

"No, we're not actually," he argued, "I got over the fence, not to mention that shotgun blast may have alerted some of the other dead. You said you were being as silent as possible, I--"

"—Enough already," she exclaimed, "We've been here since this started and we're doing just fine without your help, I don't need you coming here trying to act as if you're suddenly running this household, you got me?"

"Fine," he muttered.

"Come on," she said walking toward the back door.

"What are we doing?" he asked standing up.

"To the garden, I need your help big shot."

He shrugged and followed after grabbing the shovel she lugged in her hand with a pant. "So when did you move in to this house originally?" Makem asked following her out. "Back in 1949," she explained, "My husband built it, bless his heart, and made a point of building the fences up for me after being robbed. We made a damn good case for the city who tried to put us through all that city limits, ordinance garbage, but we showed them." He nodded stopping in front of a large garden that'd been placed underneath Lull's small swing and jungle gym, which obviously hadn't been there until they took to hiding. "Wow, you have a lot of food here."

"Well, no one's going to deliver to us right," she joked, "So when we started running dry, I took to gardening. Lull doesn't particularly like that his playground here is now off limits, but his full stomach keeps him shut." Makem smirked.

She slowly knelt down grunting, "Grab a basket over there." He turned lifting the wicker basket holding it up. "Every time I do this Lull wants to get on the swing," she scoffed. "He wants to play," Makem replied kneeling down beside her. She nodded mumbling. "Did you ever try to escape this place?" he asked. She nodded silently. "This is a big world," he muttered, "And everything outside is getting larger in numbers…"

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Nothing."

"You're trying to scare me, you think I'm scared?"

"I'm just saying that Lull needs to be out in the open with other people, companions or something."

"We're talking about Texas again."

"Yes, I want to make a grab for it."

"Well then go," she replied.

"I wanted to ask if I could take Lull with me there," he replied.

"Nothing doing."

"Julian, please, I know we just met--"

"—That's right. You got no justification to take him from me."

"He may have a chance out there to survive beyond--"

"—Beyond what?"

"Beyond this. This house. I think it's a perfect risk to take."

"You don't know what you're saying," she argued

"With me he'd be safe and stable!"

"And imprisoned. Let's face it, no matter where we go these days we're all just prisoners and an endangered species, but if we took a chance with this safe haven, perhaps there may be people there who could help us, or take him in and give him a chance at something much better. He wouldn't be so isolated."

"Why don't you go and come back for us?"

He pursed his lips, "You know I can't do that."

"You're a stranger," she said jabbing his chest with her finger, "You're nothing but an intruder! What gives you the gall to want to take him and put his life at risk like that? No. What use you gonna have for me out there, huh? I'm not gonna serve a use out there on the road." She turned against kneeling to the vegetables.

"I'm sorry," he shrugged, "I didn't mean…"

"Don't worry about it," she muttered pulling vegetables from the ground.

"You're scared too, aren't you?" he asked gently placing the produce along the basket. She nodded with a grimace making sure not to look back, "They killed my daughter. My granddaughter… I'm not letting them get that boy." He nodded looking away, "Can I stay a while longer?" There was a short silence.

"He likes you," she replied, "You ask him and you can."

"He's a great kid."

"Don't have to tell me that."

"I saw a lot like him during the riots. It was… horrendous. The masses of children being thrown to the fire. Eaten. Torn to pieces before the eyes of God. I saw girls walking around without their arms and four year olds being ravaged as they cried out with no one there to help."

"If you're expecting me to count ourselves the lucky ones--"

"No," Makem scoffed, "Of course not." She plopped four tomatoes in to the basket beside Makem. "You've adjusted well here," he observed.

"What makes you say that?"

"You've just... I mean you've lasted longer than most people."

"I lasted because I thought for myself. I didn't listen to the TV. Back in 01 when I was robbed I turned my front yard in to a fortress with a chained heavy duty gate and awning and it hasn't done me wrong since then. When this all broke out I found out the investment was worth it and ain't looked back since."

"And there's the car."

"Which won't work." She scoffed, "You know how old that oil must be? It's a brick my boy." Makem wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded disappointingly.

Lull came out from the bathroom and flinched noticing Makem sitting beside his bed with his knees up twiddling his fingers.

"Did you scrub hard?" he asked with a half smile.

"You scared me," Lull replied unamused.

"I'm sorry."

"I thought you and gramm--"

"--I got bored, so I thought _**we**_ could hang out."

"Okay," he replied with a shrug slipping his books back in to his small shelf. "You love to read I see. That's rare or... was rare."

"There's no more TV so I have no choice," he explained, "Do you know how many times I read "Cat in the Hat"?" Makem nodded, "Must be like a million."

"Oh yeah," he scoffed, "I know all my books by heart."

"You don't talk like a kid your age, do you know that?"

Lull blushed.

"Where did you learn to speak like that?"

"My mom, my gramma, and TV mostly. Damn I miss MTV."

"That's not language for someone of your age."

"I'm sorry, don't tell gramma I said "Damn," please?"

"Scout's honor."

"You're not a scout," Lull chuckled amused.

"I wasn't always an adult you know, I got around when I was your age."

"How around?" he asked.

Makem scoffed nodded with his head down.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing, you're just really funny. You remind me a lot of my little brother."

"How old was he?"

"About fifteen. He died from a brain aneurism way before any of this happened. But he was a clown like you." Lull smirked looking away. "You really think I'm funny?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Thanks," he chortled, "You wanna play Monopoly?"

"I'm not a fan of board games."

"Wanna hear more of my jokes?"

He shrugged chuckling, "Why not?"

"What did the chewing gum say to the shoe?"

"I don't know, what?"

"I'm Stuck on you!"

Makem laughed settling beside his bed.

"What is black and white and pink all over?"

Makem shrugged with a smile.

"An embarrassed zebra!"

Makem laughed once more nodding as Julian stepped by the room in to the hall bathroom. He hadn't laughed so hard in months; and though he knew the jokes Lull told were all very cheesy riddles, he didn't mind listening because his laughter was music to his ears. He sat in the room for an hour listening to Lull go through his rolodex of riddles and a good time was had by both.


	7. Touch of Grey: Chapter Seven

Lull was like a dam that'd burst thinking up every joke in the book almost as if he was performing for their new visitor and Makem appreciated what he'd found that afternoon. After many hours of talking and joking, they'd settled down beside one another and just traded stories, taking some of the pressure off of Julian who stayed in the kitchen all day long preparing their dinner.

"So we eventually got married in his home town and it was a handful at the time," Makem explained, "We loved each other though, so anything that came our way was handled with basic ease."

"I never met a gay guy before," Lull scoffed awkwardly.

"And that scares you?"

Lull nodded. "It's just... new, I guess."

"You never had any girlfriends in school?"

Lull's cheeks bursted in to an embarrassed red and he nodded barely able to meet eyes with Makem. "You're a liar," Makem chuckled.

"No I'm not," Lull insisted.

"Come on, who was she?" he nudged him playfully.

"Uh... I don't know," he shrugged scratching the top of his head.

"Well let's just start on an easy question. What was her name?"

"Shelby," he replied scratching at his head.

"Was she cute?"

Lull shrugged, "I guess. She was around when all of this happened so I never got to find out what happened to her. Sometimes I want to go outside and look for her."

Makem nodded.

"Did you...like... have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, about four brothers and a lot of cousins."

"Where are they now?"

"Probably back in San Francisco I hope."

Lull scratched at his head furiously.

"Do you think they....?"

Makem's smile faded and a frown grew on his face. He lowered his head.

"I'm sorry, my gramma always tells me to mind my business."

"It's alright," Makem assured him, "It's just a sensitive topic."

Lull scratched his head again and Makem furrowed his brows.

"Are you alright?"

"No," Lull replied with gritted teeth, "My head itches."

"Come here."

"For what?"

"Don't argue just come over here." Lull furrowed his brows and crawled over to him. Makem instantly went to work grabbing his head and rustling his hair momentarily and then really inspecting what was underneath Lulls matted hair. "What's wrong?" Lull asked looking ahead. "You've got head lice I'm afraid." Lull gasped and began to sweat nervously. "There's no shampoo, no soap and hardly any water."

"Yep that's just one of the many problems living in this world, now."

"What do I do?" Lull asked.

"We're going to have to cut your hair down."

"Gramma is going to be mad if you do."

"Nah, she won't after I explain why I did it. Go get the scissors from the bathroom."

**Back in the city...**

"They saw us, right?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Carlito replied, "It looks like they're trying to out wait us to see who emerges first."

"And what if you do? They'll kill you on the spot."

"Not if we remember the rules."

"The rules? What rules?"

"Survival of the fittest. I mean look at us. Steph and Miguel have it together, and here we are just sitting here like a couple of shits doing nothing."

"We're hiding, Carlito. From nomads."

"It wouldn't be so bad to join up with them."

"Carlito...!"

"Just think about it for a bit. If we handed them to the nomads, they might take us along with them."

"No, I don't want any part of this. I'm going to them--"

He wrapped his hand around her neck and yanked her to the ground, "You tell them and I'll kill you, got me?!" She coughed as he kept his hand clamped along her neck and he released her from his hold. He slid over to the side watching the nomads operating while Morgan gave strong coughs attempting to gain her composure.

"What are they doing?" Steph asked hiding behind a pillar on the roof.

"I don't know," Miguel replied holding his gun up, "Just stay hidden until we get the chance to move and join up with the others in the next building. It... I don't know."

"What?"

"It looks like they're camping out or something."

"They're probably trying to draw us out from hiding."

"But who tipped them off that we were here?" she asked.

Miguel shrugged, "They've been doing this to everyone. They look for survivors and kidnap them for god knows what."

Steph nervously wiped sweat from her face and sighed.

"What do we do?"

"What can we do?" he asked, "We just wait them out."

"What about Morgan and Carlito?"

"There's nothing we can do for them now," he groaned, "We just have to hope they stay quiet enough to convince the nomads that they're wasting time."

"Look, look!" Morgan said pointing down, "They're coming!" The nomads were caught and discovered by groups of the walking dead all sensing the presence of the pulses only a yard away. As the numbers increased and bodies toppled over one another, the group scattered to their tanks and trucks, yanked massive guns from their seats and began firing in to the crowds setting off blasts and gunfire that left the four cowering to the floor and covering their ears. "Do you see that?!" Carlito asked over the blasting, "They're packed, man!"

"We have to go," Steph said on the verge of a panic attack.

"No we have to stay here."

"Please?! I can't take the noise."

"Just relax." He grabbed her by the hand and led her behind the brick pillar concealing their presences from the Nomads. There was no way they'd find them now.

**In the Suburbs...**

They sat down together toilet and Lull cringed painfully as Makem did what he could to be rid of his head lice. "My gramma is going to be mad at me."

"I'll take the blame don't worry about it."

"What if she, like, shoots you again?"

"I'll jump out of her way then."

Lull laughed pulling his head away from the scissors.

"Stay still please," Makem said.

"I hate haircuts."

"Well this one is necessary. You have a full on breed of lice in your hair, my god." He furrowed his brows and heard the snips of the scissors along his scalp and brushing it every minute.

"Did you do this a lot?" he asked.

"I did it to my husband a long time ago," Makem replied.

"Were you any good?"

"You'll see once I'm done here," he smirked with confidence. Moments passed and before Makem could say anything Lull stood up and ran to the bathroom to inspect his new very short hair in the mirror. "I don't know if that will do the trick and keep the lice at bay." Lull shrugged, "That's okay. I like the haircut."

"Good, I think you needed it."

Makem stood at the foot of the steps at the kitchen's entrance and saw Julian prepping dinner. "Ladies and gentlemen, guys and gals may I present the new look for Lull!" Lull jumped out from behind him and wore a large smile as Julian failed to find the humor in the situation.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Nothing," Makem replied with a shaky voice, "We were just... he had headlice."

"Then you consult with me next time got it?!"

Makem nodded nervously.

"You don't like it?" Lull asked with a frown.

"I do, honey. I was just a little overwhelmed is all. I don't want you going place with strangers."

"I'm stuck here, so what could possibly happen with me around? What could I steal? I need this," he pleaded to her, "Please, I need your trust now more than ever. I can't live out there any longer. The hiding spaces are thin and they pop up--"

"--Okay, okay," she groaned, "But the next time you make a decision without consulting me and it's your ass, got it?"

Makem bowed, "Thank you."

Lull jumped up and down screaming at Julian's decision.

"Besides I think he has found a new hero," she whispered to Makem, "Don't disappoint him, or so help me."

"You can count on me."

"Fine, then clean the yard while I'm cooking, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." He turned and walked off to the cloudy skies.

"Gramma, can I--"

"--Go on." Lull wooted and ran out after Makem in to the gardens.

**In the City...**

Eventually the gun fire died down and all that was left was a stack of rotting corpses who formed a pile after every gun shot hit them in the head with pure ease. "Shit!" Carlito exclaimed with a smile, "Look at that shooting!" Morgan covered his mouth and pulled him down. Instantly a spotlight blasted through the night and shone along the roof where they stood. Miguel and Steph stood behind the pillar away from the light and watched Morgan raise her head slightly and gaze in their general direction.

"What do we do now?" Steph asked.

"We wait for them to go away," he insisted, "We just have to hope they leave eventually. They can't be here all night, that's for sure."

"Just wait a while and they'll go," Morgan said.

"They're not leaving, not until they find something or someone they can use."

"You're not seriously considering joining them are you?"

Carlito gave a half smile and shrugged.

"Carlito, tell me you're not going to--"

"--just mind your business or--"

"Or what?" she asked furrowing her brows, "You'll kill me, throw me off the roof?" Carlito scoffed and nodded observing the nomad barricades below. Morgan watched his expression changed within minutes of her ultimatum and she instantly grew frightened by his response or lack thereof.

"Look at them," he insisted, "They have their shit together. Who knows what they could do for us?" Morgan yanked the binoculars from Carlito and watched them.

"They have women there," she announced.

"No shit?" Carlito responded sarcastically.

"Yeah but did you see the women?" She passed the binoculars to him and as he zoomed in on the sight, his mouth fell to the floor with egg white eyes, "Shit..."

"They have five women armed to the guts--"

"--Yeah and three are strapped on to the haul of the tanks. They're bruised and skinny." Morgan nodded, "Do you think they starve them to death or something?"

"Who knows? A good woman wouldn't be such a bad thing right now."

"They're practically dead!"

"Oh shut the fuck up."

Almost subserviently she lowered her head and stood silent as Carlito watched the spectacle. He couldn't figure out why they were there. Maybe it was to lure them out or maybe they were just following their tails. Whatever they were there for, the foursome were in for a big challenge.

"The light's still out," she noticed.

"So?"

"Look!" she crawled over to the gravel and picked up a piece of shattered glass that had been pushed to the side when they originally set down on the roofs. She turned holding up the glass crawled to the ledge and tilted it in her hand. She held it up as far as she could and waved the glass around near the quickly fading sun, "God," Steph said covering her eyes, "What is that?"

Miguel covered his eyes and nodded shaking off the blinding mirror from afar and lurched back in to the darkness.

"What was that?" Steph asked.

"I think it was a mirror," he deduced, "The only time they do that is if they're in real trouble."

"But at least they're alive."

"I don't think it will be for long. Those nomads are rapists and molesters and murderers, so there's nothing to stop them from coming to us."

"Why haven't they, then?"

"They're probably playing us and waiting on us to reveal ourselves."

"You think?" asked Steph.

Miguel nodded silently, "You have your fire arms?"

Steph nodded and felt for magazines, two semi automatics and a rifle. "Come on," Miguel said pulling her back in to the safety She didn't resist. In fact she hid behind him and clutched his arms for comfort. Morgan and Carlito were not faring too well either as Morgan's symbol may or may not have registered with them. "Are they dead?" an anxious Morgan asked.

"I saw their shadows before, they're fine. They just can't come to us until this blows over."

"Blows over?"

"All of this. The nomads, the walking dead. This will blow over eventually."

"Carlito... this isn't going to--"

"--You can go with me, you know."

"Really?!"

"Yeah."

"What about--?"

"--They're stronger than we are, babe. Let them worry about their little love nest across the alleyway."

"But that's not fair."

"They are not my problems anymore, Morgan. I know you slept with everyone from here to :Jersey but that don't make you smarter than me."

"How dare you--!"

"--Are you in or are you out?"

They met eyes with a deafening silence and she kissed him on the lips. "Let's just get the hell out of here. There was a loud squeal from below that caused all four of them to cringe and a voice suddenly emerged.

"Attention!" The booming voice of a large man declared, "We knnow there are still more heart beats occupying the block of apartment building and we want to offer our hand in bringing you to safety in our home and live life away from the rot and decay." Suddenly the silence emerged in an almost deafening form and minutes passed.

"Come on!" Carlito whispered.

"No, stop!" Morgan said pulling him back down.

"Quit being a cunt and let's go!"

"I'm not going anywhere, Carlito. I'm not leaving without Steph and Miguel."

"Aw fuck them," he waved her away, "They'll be fine on their own." He attempted to get up again and she pulled him down, "Please, just let them go," Morgan pleaded glassy eyed, "They're evil." His smiles and frowns disappeared and he gave a blank emotionally void expression looking away as if his dreams had been crushed. "Come out from your hiding space and we won't do anything," the driver lowered the megaphone and continued, "We're here from the US government. We've been sent here to look for humans and not these things around us. Please we ask anyone who is out here to come and join the fight for humanity."

"Shit," Miguel sighed.

"They're lying through their teeth," Steph replied.

They stood side by side in the shadows and looked to their sides to see Morgan and Carlito talking among one another.

"They're going to get caught," Miguel warned.

"There's nothing we can do for them, babe. They have us at dead bang."

"Damn!" Miguel grunted pacing back and forth.

"They don't even know we're here," Steph said.

"So?"

"So we're safe here--"

"--So fuck them both, right?"

"That's not what I meant okay, I was just saying--"

"--Attention! We are travelers who journey across the country looking for friends and supplies and we just want to see your faces. Please let us know if there's anyone left alive in this city." Miguel and Steph looked around the corner of the pillar and spotted four men bearing arms all over their body, including grenades while Morgan and Carlito watched them from afar making sure not to be seen. The problem was that unlike his friends, he wanted to be caught. And he'd do anything to ensure his discovery. He crawled to his side without Morgan noticing and chucked it across the street. The group gasped collectively as Carlito fell to the ground and chuckled to himself.

"Fucking moron!" Miguel exclaimed.

"What was that?!" Morgan asked.

"I know what I'm doing."

"You fucking moron."

He slapped her across the face before Morgan could react and she held her face cowering in the corner.

"We know there's someone up there. Please come out and show yourself. We want to help you, that's all." Miguel nodded with a soft pant as Steph clutched his shoulders and worried alongside him. The walking dead below were already gathering along the streets but oddly made no effort to reach for them in their trucks or tanks. The tone on the megaphone suddenly changed and on came what Steph and Miguel knew would happen. "Hello," the voice said in a gentler tone, "We saw the rock. We know someone threw it at us. All you have to do is come out from hiding and we'll work it out." Carlito looked over to Morgan raising his eye brows. "If this ordeal isn't working, then we have no choice but to find you and kill you. Do what we say and no one gets hurt." Steph broke in to tears pacing back and forth with a whimper as Miguel consoled her silently. "Fire on my command, fellas!"


	8. Touch of Grey: Chapter Eight

"Hey!" Carlito screamed jumping up and down and waving his arms, "Hey! Over here! We're stuck here! Please help us!" The spotlight beamed directly to him and the nomads began to laugh among themselves. "You have anyone with you?" the driver on the megaphone asked. Carlito nodded.

"Why not bring your girlfriend out?" he saked.

"I-I'm alone," he swore. A shot rang out and Carlito fell to the ground. Morgan screamed and crawled over to him looking for shot wound. Carlito groaned and sat up rubbing his head. "I knew they'd try to kill you," she whimpered smacking his chest.

"I'm okay," he insisted, "They were just trying to scare me is all. Let me try this again..." He stood up and began walking along the ledges as the nomads watched from below preparing for their next move.

"Made your mind up meat man?" A nomad asked over the megaphone.

"I want to go with you guys," he announced. He moved his eyes to the left and saw Steph and Miguel cowering in the shadows only an alley away. They'd made the right move and just as the spotlight beamed on him, he'd regretted it. Though he wanted to do right by the others, his curiosity with the Nomads would ultimately prevail. His desperation fogged up his common sense and these men and women seems to have it all packed. Carlito stuck his hands up and looked down on Morgan whose eyes were drooped down almost as if pleading with him not to give her location away. "Drop the rifle." He dropped the rifle beside Morgan and raised both hands.

"Come on down here kid," the driver scoffed looking back at his men.

"There's someone else with me."

"What?" Morgan whispered, "Carlito no!"

"She's right here!" He pointed toward the floor.

"It's okay," he whispered looking down at her.

"But Carlito..." tears ran down her eyes.

"Come on, it's fine," he yanked her from the floor.

"He did it," Steph said, "He actually did it."

"What should we do?"

"Nothing for now," she replied, "They're going somewhere but until we find out where, they're basically on their own for now."

"Fucking Carlito," Miguel exclaimed. A shot rang out near Miguel's ears and he fell to the ground and crawled deeper in to the shadows.

"Are you okay?" Steph asked panting.

"Yeah, yeah," Miguel panted, "That was a fluke. They're trying to flush us out. Damn, that hurt." She held Miguel in her arms and slid him deeper in to the dark as evening approached. "I'm going," Carlito said, "You stay here if you want to, Morgan." He jumped on to the fire escape and Morgan quickly began following after him leaving little option to consider her decision. Her stomach was sick with knots and she couldn't help but look back to Steph and Miguel's hiding spot where they were barely visible to the Nomads. "Hey," the driver looked back at his troops, "we'll get to them as soon as possible. Especially the girl. She's definitely material for our fun and games under the bridge." Carlito gave a smirk waving his hands around and from the back of the truck, two writers burst on to the streets and began dodging the walking corpses adamantly in their efforts to retrieve the two.

Miguel never understood why, but they wanted the two more than anything. They didn't ask for goods or clothing. Instead they just wanted them and Carlito quickly ran over to the door of the roof swinging it open as four of the walking dead poured from the dark doorway reaching for him. Morgan yelped standing up and began shooting randomly in to the crowds of the dead. She shot them in the legs, the arms and none of it caused damage. Carlito screamed and fell back to the floor sliding back to the ledge. He tore his gun from his holster and quickly exterminated of them. After the last bullet fell he kept clicking the trigger in to the darkness and up emerged a large man with a chain in one hand a hatchet in the other.

"Where are everyone else?"

"There is no one else," Carlito insisted.

He thrashed his hips in with his large chains and Miguel and Steph watched from afar in agony. "I'll ask you again, is there anyone else?!"

"No!" Morgan whimpered covering Carlito's body from the vicious biker.

"We're all alone here man," Carlito whimpered, "I just wanted in, is all."

"Wanted in?"

Three more armed men emerged from the doorway to the roof.

"Hey," he turned to them, "This piece of shit wants in."

"Geez Bernard, is it the fifties again?" the snaggle toothed Woody cackled loudly.

"I can't live like this any longer, man," Carlito said on his knees, "I want to be apart of the Nomads, I want to do anything but scrounging for food and hiding out on tall buildings. At least with you..."

"You can be someone's bitch, is that right?" Bernard joked.

"Here," Morgan said lugging over a box of canned foods.

"No!" Steph yelped as Miguel grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth. They disappeared further behind the pillar and watched helplessly as the two gave away every bit of ration they had and the nomads didn't seem to mind it too much.

"So?" Carlito asked panting.

"We have special places for you two, don't worry," Bernard smirked. Carlito and Morgan looked over at each other momentarily and drew a forced smile hoping in the back of their minds that they were in for something better in America beyond the flesh eating hordes banging down the doors at every stop.

"Don't tell them," Carlito whispered.

"I know," Morgan replied.

"Keep the secrets to a minimum kids."

"S-Sorry," Morgan pouted.

"Let's hit the blood soaked pavement then, eh?"

They watched from afar as the Nomad caravan began to slightly dissipate in to the darkness as they continued bargaining for the next twenty minutes. "Just give us what we want and we'll be out of your hair."

"We have nothing else," Morgan stressed, "Look at us! We stole everything and now we're giving our food to you." He slapped her across the face knocking her back, Carlito struggled to fight back but they quickly bound and gagged him before he could make a move. During the struggle both of Bernard's men held her by Morgan's sides tearing up her clothing and cutting through her shirts while grabbing her every which way. Her fighting was no victory as she was raped right before Carlito's eyes.

"Leave her alone!" Carlito screamed with a mumbled voice, "Leave her alone!"

"Shut the fuck up," Bernard said as he pistol whipped him to the ground.

Carlito rolled on to his back and groaned barely able to see straight. All he could here were the echoed cries of his sister and a lot of crying as they grabbed and fondled her against her will. All the Steph and Miguel could do is watch from a distance and gaze in sheer horror. Steph muffled her cries while Miguel just watched helplessly as grown men violated Morgan in horrific ways and they knew she'd be fun and games at the camp site. After they were done they finally desisted in their torture of both kids. "Alright, let's bag them and tag them," Bernard ordered, "Wrap the bitch up and she'll be used for our daily fun and games.

For her sake she'd better be cherry. And the boy comes with us." There was a glimmer across the building they were residing on and instantly Woody snapped in to action running to the ledge and investigating all on his own.

"Hey Bernie."

"What do you want?"

"I don't think we're alone much, right here." Bernard furrowed his brows and stood beside Woody looking in to the darkness. "Shine the light" Woody whispered. Suddenly the flashlight beamed in to the other building and the two dove to the ground on their stomachs hiding in plain sight. He smacked Woody, "Next time let's not waste any batteries. Got me?" Woody rubbed his forehead and nodded nervously.

"They saw us," Steph whispered.

"No they didn't. We were too fast."

A shot rang out chipping the ledged, and three more shots tore the bricks off the building. Regardless of the almost endless attacks on their hide out they remained adamant about keeping their cover, even if it meant doom for their group. After a few more shots that hit way too close to Steph's, they finally quit and lugged Carlito like a tied up pig and began rolling him down the steps as Morgan was carried off in the buff screaming incoherently. Before Miguel and Steph could realize it they were lugged in to the back of the trucks.

"Ah," driver Jerry said rubbing his hands together, "We finally got a new play toy for the group! I get first dibs on the girl there."

"No I get first dibs," Bernard declared. There was a short silence and no one dared to argue with him. "When we get to the bridge I want you to tear down the women we already have tied up and mount this one against the wall for anyone in the mood for fucking!" The guys wooted victoriously as they drove off down the street.

For a moment, Steph and Miguel saw the look of terror in Morgan's eyes. Miguel raised his rifle up and blasted in the drivers seats. Their brains splattered along the windshields one after the other. Before anyone could get their bearings they began to fire back at them, "I fucking knew there was someone else!" Bernard barked, "Get them down from there, I don't care how!" Miguel knelt down beside Steph as the rapid fire was utterly deafening. Now they were definitely stuck and Steph wasn't too happy. "Why did you do that?!" she exclaimed punching his arm.

"They're taking them god knows where, what did you expect me to do?"

"Leave it be."

"What?!"

"Carlito got himself in to this situation," Steph argued, "If it weren't for him we wouldn't have even been spotted by them."

"Well tough," he barked, "I did what was right." A scream emerged from below. The two slid to the ledge and watched as Morgan burst from he back of the caravan screaming and running down the streets in the buff. The nomads didn't notice her except one of the nomads who sat atop the truck watching her run for her dear life.

"She escaped," Steph said with a hint of surprise.

"Give it time," Miguel replied with a nod.

Before a minute passed a shot rang out through the air cutting the silence with a knife. Morgan fell to the ground still for a minute and then began squirming along the ground. Even from their hide out, they noticed Morgan crying and begging them.

They were making them watch. Steph and Miguel wasn't sure who the torture show was for, but they knew of the young couple and they made a performance for them that would haunt them in their sleep. Morgan began squirming again and bawling underneath her gag. Carlito was pulled outside in tears and thrown to the floor at Bernard's feet as Steph and Miguel watched.

"See that?" Bernard asked.

Carlito whimpered and nodded no.

"Lesson One," he handed the to him, "Shoot the bitch."

"Please," Carlito whimpered, "Please I can't--"

"Those assholes," Steph bawled.

"Don't look at this," Miguel said turning her away as she whimpered in his arms. He continued watching, and worse more he couldn't understand why.

"Do it!" a nomad said from the truck, "Just shoot the miserable bitch!" Carlito sniffed wiping his tears and looked back at the group of guys sitting in the truck with wide smiles almost seeing the events as a game. He couldn't believe this was all that was left of mankind. But then again, he thought, they must be doing something right. Without flinching boom! And then two quick shots as Morgan went limp and lay along the ground still as stone. They wooted victoriously as above them both survivors cried as quietly as they could as they watched Carlito's horrified expression turn in to pleasure. "Wanna see what happens next?" Bernard said roughly grabbing his shoulder. Carlito shed a few tears and nodded yes.

Minutes passed. He sat alongside Bernard and the rest of the crew and waited. A few drifters headed their way but they were easily dispensed. And then like clock work Morgan began to move. First her legs twitched and then her blue hands clutched the street. "This is the best part!" Bernard boasted as he and his friends laughed. There was a loud humming groan that emerged from Morgan's body and she quickly turned to reveal her bruised pale face with pearly white eyes that spooked not only Carlito but Steph and Miguel who felt a combination of remorse and horror. Morgan stumbled to the ground smacking her face along the pavement and quickly stood up on her feet growling angrily as the men watched her. Bernard jumped off the truck and kicked her to the ground. She squirmed slightly and stood back up.

"Morgan...?" Carlito asked with a whisper, "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Kiss and make up now!" Jerry laughed.

Bernard jumped off the truck and quickly swerved away from Morgan who was looking in to the sky with her hands reaching ahead. Bernard suddenly grabbed the back of her head and grasped her by her hair as Morgan resisted his attack with no avail.

"Come on, you don't want a piece of this?" Jerry asked nudging Carlito.

"She's dead now."

"So? I slept with four dead chicks back at the camp. It's colder than an igloo but it keeps the heat at bay, get it?" He laughed loudly and smacked Carlito along his back.

"Somebody get the ball gag for this bitch," Bernard ordered.

A female member of the nomads jumped out from the passenger seat and ran over to shove the ball in her mouth and duct tape it around her head. A shot rang out and Morgan's brains splattered along the ground instantly dropping by Carlito's feet. He cringed and lurched back in disgust.

"Who was that?!" Bernard asked his men, "Who the fuck did that?!"

"Aww look at her," Jerry tisked, "She's worthless now."

"You!" Bernard said grabbing him by the throat, "You know who did this don't you?! You were lying to us!" He grabbed Carlito by the shirt, "Tell us who else is up there!" Carlito hesitated momentarily. "Tell us who is up there or you're up for being the new play thing, understood?" Carlito whimpered softly and nodded nervously.

"Don't do it," Steph whispered to herself, "Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it." Carlito didn't speak at all but his brief glimpse at the building across from did all the work and spared them the time to hunt.

"He did it," Steph scoffed, "He actually did it. That mother fucker."

"Cool it," Miguel replied, "Now is not the time to be arguing over Carlito. He's getting his. Our problem right now is what's going to happen next. We have only four side arms and some melee weapons and they have an army with them."

"Do we fire back?"

"No."

"No? What do mean no?"

"This whole thing never would have happened had he stayed in hiding like we did. And now look. Morgan get murdered like a dog and Carlito gets to be treated like one. Just like he always wanted."

"What do we do?"

"Take a head count."

"A what?"

"Count how many nomads there are."

Steph furrowed momentarily and looked back, "About ten or eleven."

"You see? We can distract them, we can... even the odds by knocking them off from here, god know what?"

"God knows you're an idiot."

Miguel furrowed his brows.

"This building is smaller than the one we were in a few days ago. And if they find us whose to say we're not next?

"This has to be done Steph. You know it."

She debated with herself for a few minutes and sighed standing up. The both laid on their stomachs, aimed their guns and began pick off almost everyone in sight. Their rebellion meant nothing to the nomads as more of the walking dread crept from the corners and skyscrapers. They didn't have a focus at the moment, but thankfully for them the rain made their visibility much foggier.


End file.
